


Imagine how the world could be, so very fine

by ConvenientAlias



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, Identity Issues, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsession, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2019-11-29 01:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Harold meets Klaus at a dumpster. Things kind of snowball from there. But really, Harold's intentions are only the best.





	1. Chapter 1

Harold didn’t really know what he was doing by going by the Hargreeves mansion—or the Umbrella Academy, as some called it, though it was a point of debate whether the “academy” was the building or just the squad it housed. Either way, he had no reason to be there. He’d been obsessed with the Umbrella Academy as a child, but that was what he’d been, a child. He’d known little about them. He had no reason to mourn the death of Reginald Hargreeves, hardly any reason to feel anger at him either. Yet here he was, and here he’d been for the better part of the day, wandering around the house, from the front gate to the back and now lingering on the side, near a dumpster but also near enough windows that he could imagine what was going on inside…

Footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a man approaching. A man in a long black coat with faux fur, bedraggled hair and stark if smeared eye makeup. There was a slight swing to his step and a manic grin on his face. He spotted Harold and called out, “Afternoon!”, friendly as if they’d known each other for ages.

Harold knew who he was, of course. He knew all about the Umbrella Academy. Knew the kid heroes they used to be and the sorry adults they’d become—he’d read _Extra Ordinary_ , after all. This one had to be Klaus; no one else’s description even came near.

So he said, “Good afternoon, Klaus.”

Klaus paused. He leaned against the dumpster, apparently unworried by its dirtiness. “…I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“You don’t remember me? Harold?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Partly just to mess with Klaus, see what he’d believe—Vanya’s account said he kept himself high pretty constantly, had to mess with his memory—partly because it was an honest question. After all, he’d met Klaus once, that day in the street. Hadn’t spoken to him personally, but he’d spoken to all of them, asking them to let him join up.

It’d be funny if Klaus did remember that day. Wouldn’t it just.

(Not a day _Harold_ would ever forget.)

Klaus tilted his head, blinked, and then smiled a little. “Harold… yes of course, I’m so sorry. Of course, Harold.” Whatever conclusion he’d drawn was apparently inaccurate but pleasant, because he stalked forward, grabbed Harold by the collar, and kissed him.

He tasted more strongly of alcohol and weed than anyone Harold had kissed before. Still, he was not bad. At first his lips were just a little curious, lightly friendly. Then suddenly he gripped Harold’s arms, turned him and pushed him against the dumpster, kiss turning ferocious. The ridges of the dumpster dug into Harold’s back and neck, but he was hardly going to break this up. He was cataloguing details, comparing them to what he knew of Klaus. Klaus was pansexual, Vanya’s book said, drove Dad crazy. Pansexual and a slut. Though Vanya used nicer words for it. She was gentle in how she described Klaus, pitying, talked about even adult Klaus as if he were a child.

The Klaus that was kissing Harold was nothing like a child. Until he stumbled away, pupils dilated, and let out a dizzied guffaw. “Harold, what the fuck are you doing here? This place is the pits. Really only fit for moping or looting, I’ve already done both and a good guy like you shouldn’t do either. Come on, this place will ruin you.”

He didn’t seem to expect an answer as to what Harold was doing there, thank God. He dragged Harold away and out into the street, mumbling about how Luther apparently hadn’t changed at all and was a complete spoilsport. Part of Harold resented being pulled away, but of course if a member of the Umbrella Academy wanted to take him somewhere—even under false pretenses—he wasn’t going to object.

He wondered where Klaus would take him; disappointingly, they were only headed to the nearest bar. Klaus paused outside and swore. “Shit. I forgot because I saw you—here, just a second.”

He reached into his bulky coat and took out a box, so big that Harold wondered how he had been concealing it. A box of secrets? Whatever it held, Klaus jerked it open and tossed the papers and books into the nearest trashcan.

“Hey, hey.” Harold took them out again. “Klaus, listen, these could be important.”

Klaus sighed. “Then you take them, Harold, who gives a shit? Daddy’s old report cards, probably. I don’t feel the need to look over my failing grades.” He stretched, waving the box in the air. “How much do you think this’ll fetch? Actual pearls… Agh, we’ll have to go to the pawn shop first.” He pulled Harold’s arm. “I know this one pretty well, I grew up here, did I ever tell you? Always used to pawn things there. Daddy never figured it out. And now he can’t stop me, because he’s dead! Did I tell you that?”

Harold didn’t answer; again, no answer seemed to be expected.

The pawn shop was empty of people and full of expensive goods and very depressing. Klaus was done with his business after a few minutes of impatient haggling. Waving cash, he said, “My treat, if you want. There’s no way I’m going back to that mansion until I’m high as balls.”

So they went back to the bar, and Klaus found the likeliest man and bought some… something, Harold didn’t keep track of street drugs and he wasn’t even sure Klaus knew what it was exactly. He offered some to Harold but when Harold declined he didn’t seem disappointed. He just popped some of the stuff in his mouth and crunched.

His pupils dilated further.

“That stuff probably isn’t good for you, you know,” Harold ventured.

“Mhm.”

“Doesn’t it stop your powers? Make it so you aren’t special?”

“Did I tell you that? Anyways, yes, that’s the point. No ghosts today, can’t do it, won’t do it. Reginald can have a fit if he wants.”

“I can’t understand why you would do that.” And he didn’t. He’d read Klaus’s chapter through many times—read the whole book through many times—and he didn’t get it at all. Seeing ghosts wouldn’t be helpful in day to day life, maybe, but it was something special, something nobody else could do. Harold would have clung to that like a lifeline; Klaus had cast it aside and was letting himself drown.

Klaus frowned in annoyance. Then he shrugged it off, and pulled Harold into another kiss. This one was even more in earnest, maybe because of the new high, maybe because they were in a bar instead of an alleyway and the mood was different. Even though it was still only mid-afternoon.

But eventually Klaus pushed Harold off and said, “I have a funeral to get to, dear.”

“Of course.”

“…maybe I could just not go.”

“I think you need to go,” Harold said gently. He hated Reginald Hargreeves as much as anyone, but Klaus belonged to the Umbrella Academy. He had to return.

“Yeah… but I hate it. God, I hate that house!” Klaus rubbed his forehead. His eyes flickered to Harold. “Hey, see me afterwards?”

Harold hadn’t considered the possibility, but, “Sure.”

“Same place we met earlier, at… let’s say midnight. That’s a fine hour for lovers to meet.” He headed for the door. “But for now, back to Hell!”

He left without looking back. Harold thought he probably wasn’t supposed to follow. He sat down at one of the bar’s tables, where he’d left the papers and the book from Klaus’s box. They still looked very important. He’d go back to his shop, stow them away. And then meet Klaus later.

Or maybe not. He wasn’t sure who Klaus thought he was, but whoever it was, he wasn’t. There was no way Klaus remembered little Harold Jenkins, or would greet him so affectionately. Chances were he thought Harold was some hookup he’d had while stoned out of his mind, or some old friend—though the Umbrella Academy didn’t really encourage outside friends, did they? Well. Either way, Klaus was wrong about Harold, and there was no reason for Harold to meet up with him later, it couldn’t really lead anywhere…

Though it might lead to sex.

Harold bit his lip, considering it. One night with a member of the Umbrella Academy. Had he his pick of the lot, it wouldn’t be Klaus. He might choose Vanya, the outcast, the woman whose writing he’d read time and time again. Or maybe Luther—what could he say, the man was built, and the whole “number one” thing was obnoxious but appealing. Or Five, the real media darling. Though Klaus had his own appeal. For one thing, in person he was very pretty, and he was clearly a very good kisser, and he was likely a good fuck too. And Harold did find him at least an object of great curiosity, even though the way he rejected his own powers was absurd.

One night with Klaus Hargreeves. It would be something to remember.

* * *

 

He put the papers and the book away for later. He glanced over them a little—they seemed mysterious, notes about Vanya and some sort of experimentation, very strange and hardly legible—but he didn’t have time to look at them thoroughly right now. Right now he could hardly sit still anyway. He’d been buzzing under his skin all day, even though he thought that around Klaus at least he’d looked pretty calm.

Reginald Hargreeves was dead, and good riddance. Logically he had no personal grudge against the man. He’d made Harold’s childhood happier, in a way, and if he’d been the catalyst to Harold finally breaking and killing his father, that might even be considered a good thing. But when Harold thought of how cold those eyes had been, how cold the voice that told him he was “not special”, it made him feel as sick as he had that day. How many times had he thought over that moment in prison? It haunted him as much as the murder that had followed it, possibly more.

Now the bastard was dead, and his family left behind.

He flipped through _Extra Ordinary_ again, only skimming most of it. Luther, the number one who could never grow out of the Umbrella Academy, made the most sense to Harold, though he doubted they’d get along. Diego, whose power sounded pretty useless until you saw it in action—that was why you knew he was clever, but he’d fought with Reginald and with Luther constantly, and he’d been kind of a mess when Vanya knew him. Allison, the girl Harold used to crush on before he realized he also liked guys and she really wasn’t his favorite—the one who was married now but separated, whose tabloids he kept up with even though he hated tabloids. The most recent headline said she and Patrick were still doing “just fine”, which was bullshit considering what Patrick had done to her, kicking her out of her own house, but. Whatever. Five, the vanished prodigy, the first guy Harold ever crushed on from a distance. Ben, the tragically young death—his chapter was kept brief.

Today he paused on Klaus. Klaus had his own chapter, but he was sprinkled throughout the rest of the book too. All the siblings were interwoven, really; you couldn’t talk about any one of them alone. Harold closed his eyes and pictured Klaus in isolation.

“Klaus’s problem was fear,” Vanya wrote. “He had powers. Father even said that he could probably harness more power than he ever actually did. But he was too afraid to use his powers properly—a seer afraid to look. Cassandra gazing at a thousand fallen Troys, quaking at the sight of them, well aware there was nothing left he could really do about them. He put on a decent show in front of the press, but I knew he had nightmares. We all knew.”

Klaus hadn’t seemed afraid this afternoon.

He’d seemed jittery, sure, and upset, but overall pretty decisive. Harold hadn’t even touched him except to reciprocate, and he’d been… pretty demanding, really, not the way Harold had pictured Number Four at all. Number Four, in the old days, always seemed kind of boring, not really doing as much on the missions as others; in Vanya’s book, he was a complete and utter mess, lost to addiction and terror. But Klaus, as Harold had met him, seemed despite the drugs and confusion to be unnervingly sharp.

Careless and self destructive, of course. Those drugs… and the fact that he’d been making out with  a guy he didn’t know. Of course it had been Harold, and Harold would never have hurt him. But it could have been anyone. Klaus could have gotten into some serious trouble. Harold chewed his lip.

He brewed himself some coffee; it was going to be a late night.

Outside a storm was brewing. Thunder shook so hard that Harold felt the building shake. Or was that an earthquake? Didn’t matter. Unnerving. Some kind of night, considering it had been such a good day. The rain came after the thunder had already cleared mostly, and it rained hard. The hours passed.

He headed out for the rendezvous early, went to wait in the alley with a sturdy umbrella. It was good he had plenty to think about, because Klaus showed up almost half an hour later.

“Sorry, have you been waiting long?”

Harold wasn’t about to scold him. “I’ve brought my car,” he said.

“Great. Let’s go.”

He took the back for some reason, even though shotgun was free. That was fine—he might be a little too energetic for Harold to sit next to him while driving. In the backseat he mumbled on, and Harold realized after a while that he was getting half of a conversation.

“Hey, can we get waffles? We’re starving back here,” Klaus complained.

“Who you got back there with you, Klaus?”

Klaus squinted. He seemed to be listening to someone. “…he doesn’t want me to tell you. But it’s Ben,” he said with a smirk. “Shut up!” he added, assumedly to the ghost. “I don’t have to—listen, we’re getting waffles.”

Ben, huh? Must be nice to have a brother hanging out with him all the time. Harold had often wished he were not an only child. “I’d rather go to my place. It’s late for waffles, but I have some leftovers from dinner if you’re hungry.”

In the rearview mirror he could see Klaus’s stoic shrug. “Got any vodka?”

“I have some scotch.”

“…good enough.”

Harold’s house was the image of suburbia perfection. Just the way he’d crafted it. Klaus in a fur jacket and a knee-length skirt was out of place, especially with the fact that since he’d taken his boots off at the door, he was wearing nothing else aside from those items. But Harold sort of liked the contrast. He shut the door behind them and put out his hand. “I’ll take your coat.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows, then shrugged the coat off. Now he was wearing nothing but the skirt. His body was thin but defined, not such a wreck as Vanya would have it in her book. There were scars here and there, but nothing too bad—Harold knew he had worse. His chest was a little wet, the coat not having closed enough to protect him from the rain. Harold put his hand out to feel the drops of moisture, and Klaus gripped his hand, pressing it close, eyes urgent.

But Harold was still holding the coat, and he had to excuse himself to put it in the closet. Then he brought out the promised leftovers and the scotch, though he drank none of it himself and only allowed Klaus a little. Then they went to the bedroom.

Klaus left the skirt pooled on the floor before flopping onto Harold’s bed as if it belonged to him. Words streamed sluggishly out of his mouth, about how he’d seen his own childhood bed today, about how Harold was nice to have taken him in, something about Five (must be in a mood for reminiscing), something about the old man, something about Pogo, something about a cigarette. Half of the words were addressed to Harold, half to someone hovering behind Harold’s back. Probably Ben. Harold turned off the light. He didn’t dislike Ben, from what he knew, but there was no need to give the guy a peepshow.

Then he got on the bed with Klaus and touched him the way he’d wanted to. And Klaus was good.

Though, Klaus did fall asleep as soon as the act was complete, leaving Harold still awake, very awake. Today, he thought, was a case of being in the right place in the right time. He’d gotten those papers in his office, which were likely to be useful, and he’d gotten Klaus in his bed. He hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever slept with anyone as good as Klaus. Though maybe that was him being sentimental…

He did feel a little sentimental about this. Klaus being one of his childhood heroes and all that.

Klaus was spooning him right now. Though he was small, he’d turned out to be a big spoon, and he curled around Harold protectively, like a hero ought. But Klaus would go away tomorrow. Back to the Umbrella Academy, maybe, where he belonged. Or back to the streets—Vanya’s book said he was homeless, and Harold had gathered the same. Either way, back to the drugs and the denial of his powers and misery.

Unless Harold did something to fix it.

The idea came to him almost fully formed, as ideas sometimes did. It meant it had really been brewing for a while, in the back of his mind, just waiting for him to be ready for it. Now he was ready, and it spoke to him: Klaus really shouldn’t be allowed to go back to his life before, which made him so miserable. He shouldn’t be allowed to go back to pretending not to be special, ruining his own life. Harold had a chance to help him here, really help him. …he might not see it that way at first, having a reputation for rebellion, but he would eventually.

So Harold quietly pulled away from Klaus’s arms, smiling a little at Klaus’s murmur of complaint, and headed out to get the things he’d need. Mostly supplies he already kept around just in case. Duct tape, rope, such things… It was a good thing Klaus was high and drunk and very thoroughly asleep. There would be plenty of time for Harold to work. He might even have time left over to review those papers before settling down to sleep; after all, he’d drunk plenty of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Klaus woke up to a headache and a chant from Ben, which was not unusual. “Klaus. Klaus. Klaus. Klaus. Klaus. Seriously Klaus. How the fuck are you still sleeping? KLAUS. Klaus! Klaus, seriously. Come on, Klaus.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, and he tried to curl into a ball, but found he couldn’t move his arms, which were stretched out over his head.

What in the world…?

No, not worth waking up for. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. He was still far from sober, he’d had plenty yesterday, but he was just down enough to feel a little nauseous and achey and it wasn’t all that great. The blankets over him were warm; the mattress was soft. His one-night stand hadn’t kicked him out, which was pretty rare, and until he did, Klaus saw no reason to join the world of the (dead and) living.

“Klaus. I can tell you’re awake. What the fuck? Come on, this is really not good, wake up.”

Fine. He’d give Ben a little attention if he had to, and then he could go back to sleep. He opened his eyes, stretched his legs, and looked up. “What’s so important that I can’t fucking sleep?”

Ben had been crossing his arms. Now he uncrossed them and gestured to the headboard of the bed. Klaus looked up and oh, wonderful, someone had tied his hands to the rails. How high had he been last night? “Gerald was into bondage? Wish I could remember that,” he said with a frown. It had been a long time since his last scene.

“His name was Harold, and no, he just decided to tie you to the bed after you’d fallen asleep,” Ben said. “I tried to wake you up, but you just kept on sleeping.”

“Well, I did need my sleep.”

“This guy is bad news.”

“You’ve been saying that since we met him yesterday.” Klaus wanted to rub his forehead—agh, the headache—but unfortunately could not. He settled for curling his head against his shoulder. “I’m telling you, I’m pretty sure he’s that guy from… that time at…” He frowned. Couldn’t remember the place, but he could swear he’d seen that face in disco lighting, though it might be he was confusing Gerald—Harold—with someone else.

“That? Doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that he tied you to a bed,” Ben said pointedly. “Which is bad news.”

Klaus sighed. He was still so tired. Why did Ben have to wake him up? “So, either he’s into some weird kinky shit or he’s planning on murdering me. Who cares.”

“KLAUS.”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

His apathy lasted about five minutes. Easy to argue with Ben, who worried too much about everything, but Ben was silent now, and “These things hurt.” He tugged at the ropes around his wrists. “Jesus, you see how tight he tied it? This is not safe bondage protocol. I could dislocate something.” He tugged again, viciously.

“You might, so maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

“What the fuck? I mean, this is not good BDSM procedure. And we’ve seen some weirdoes.” Klaus scowled. “Oh my God, he’s totally a murderer. Why the fuck do I have to die like this? …though in a way it’s not surprising…”

“Klaus, focus. You’re not dead yet.” Ben had gone back to crossing his arms.

“Little Five just came back,” Klaus said mournfully. “I was going to talk to him at least a couple more times… Seriously, what the fuck?” He tugged at the ropes. “Help! HELP!”

Ben settled on the foot of the bed. There wasn’t much he could do to help, after all, and apparently, having woken Klaus up to the emergency, he was satisfied with letting Klaus deal with it. Well, what was Klaus supposed to do? He screamed some more. The shades of the window were drawn, but it seemed to be midday by the light filtering through. Someone had to be up out there. Would his voice carry that far? He screamed again, scraping at his throat. Screaming, in his past, had rarely done him any good, but it was always a decent first option.

Usually he followed up by running, but that wasn’t an option right now.

The door opened and in came Harold. He looked a bit different from how Klaus remembered him from yesterday—maybe he’d shaved, or maybe it was the lighting. Damn, he really didn’t look that familiar. That or Klaus was getting paranoid, which at this point he had every right to be.

“Let me the fuck out of these fucking ropes! Who the fuck are you?”

Harold was unperturbed. He sat down on the foot of the bed, coincidentally close to Ben, who moved away from him with a grimace. “I told you, I’m Harold. Did you just realize we don’t actually know each other?” He smiled. It was a perfectly genial smile and in retrospect Klaus should have known that no one who looked this innocent actually was. “That’s fine, though. We know each other now. Pretty well, I’d say.” He chuckled. His gaze skimmed over the shape of Klaus under the blankets, lingering on his uncovered chest before landing on his face.

Klaus growled. “Well, clearly that was a mistake, asshole. What the fuck are these?” He tugged at the ropes. “Tying someone up in their sleep is not good etiquette.”

“Sorry,” Harold said, “but I worried you’d run off when you woke up. I, uh. I have some plans. Kind of made most of them last night, so I hope you don’t think I was lying to you or anything…”

“I think you should let me out of the fucking ropes.”

“Baby, I think I’d better not. But it’s gonna be fine. Calm down.”

He moved up the bed and sat closer to the pillow, ruffling a hand through Klaus’s hair. Klaus growled again, and Ben said, “Seriously, such a creep.”

“Obviously I’ve figured that out,” Klaus snapped.

“Oh, is Ben here?” Harold said. “That’s good, I’ll only have to explain this once. So. My name is Harold Jenkins, like I said, and I’m… well, I guess I was something of a fan of yours once. The Umbrella Academy in general, not just you—not that you weren’t impressive, though you weren’t in the spotlight that much…”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“A crazed fan. I thought he was probably just some random wacko,” Ben remarked.

“…anyways, obviously none of you guys have been in the spotlight much recently. Except Allison. Not a huge fan, though.” Harold shrugged. “Seems like kind of a waste for her to just become a movie star, when she has those powers. But you, you’re much more of a waste.”

“Gee, thanks,” Klaus muttered. He heard this spiel enough from, well, basically everyone else in his life without the guy who literally tied him to a bed in his sleep reiterating it.

“I mean, you can talk to ghosts! And your dad thought you could do much bigger things, if you wanted to. You’re special, but you throw it all away on drugs and alcohol. What kind of person does that with his life when he could do so much more?”

He’d been stroking Klaus’s hair the whole time; now his grip tightened, making Klaus yelp. At that, he apologetically removed his hand and smiled. “Sorry. I got a little overexcited there.”

“Yes, well, I think you’re a little overexcited in general,” Klaus said, “so maybe you could just…”

“But you do need to get clean,” Harold said, “and clearly no one in your life is going to help you with that. Your siblings don’t give a shit about you.”

“You don’t know anything about my siblings,” Klaus said, though to be fair, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Diego did sometimes tell him to get clean, maybe once a year?

“So you’re going to stay here until you’re sober,” Harold said, “and we’re going to see how your powers are when you recover. Okay?”

He stood. “Now I’ll get you some breakfast. Coffee?”

“How about some scotch?” Klaus said.

Harold shook his head.

“Come on, man, this idea is clearly bullshit. Look, just let me out of here and I won’t tell anyone, okay? No one listens to me anyways. Just a crazy idea you had last night, but we can let it go and it will all be just fine…”

“I’ll get some coffee and toast,” Harold said, and he walked out.

Klaus groaned and pushed his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes. What a fucking villainous monologue, self righteous to boot. And toast? Seriously? “It couldn’t at least be waffles?”

Ben said, “Well, I’d say he’s not going to kill you but with a guy like this, he might lose his temper. You have a way of getting on people’s nerves.”

“Thanks, Ben. Do you have anything more useful to say?”

“I’ll go scope the place out. We didn’t get a good look around last night. I’ll be right back.” And with that, Ben walked out too, leaving Klaus to wallow in worries.

* * *

The toast turned out to be unexpectedly good. Like, Klaus still wasn’t into it, Harold had to hand feed it to him and it wasn’t a waffle and it certainly didn’t make up for Harold basically kidnapping him (yes, at this point he was going to call this a kidnapping), but it did have just the right amount of butter, which is to say a little too much. Kind of like the way Mom made it. Klaus would have commented this to Ben, who was wistfully appreciative of most of Klaus’s monologues about food, but Ben was still off exploring.

Harold said, “So, about that book you threw away yesterday.”

“Okay, I don’t give a shit about that book, how about we talk about the fact that this could definitely get you arrested? I have a brother with connections to the police.”

“…I’m not scared of Diego, and according to Vanya’s book, those connections are very tenuous. And I’ve seen his arrest records, they’re worse than yours.”

“Why,” Klaus muttered despairingly, “have you seen our arrest records? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Let’s get back on topic,” Harold said. “So I read through most of the book you threw away yesterday, and as it turns out, throwing away that book would have been a very bad decision. It had some very interesting facts in it.” He raised his eyebrows as if Klaus was supposed to be impressed. When Klaus didn’t say anything, he said, “About Vanya.”

“Oh great, _facts_ about _Vanya_. Just what I’ve always wanted, how did you know.”

“It’s always seemed weird that she didn’t have powers, right? Like, all the rest of you did. So why shouldn’t she be special? Well,” Harold said, “as it turns out, she is special. Probably more special than any of the rest of you. No offense, Klaus.”

Klaus was much more offended by the fact that he was still tied to the bed’s headboard than by any insinuations about his powers or lack thereof. He’d been a séance for the past thirty years; he knew by now that it fucking sucked.

He didn’t really want to be interested in whatever Harold had to say about Vanya’s supposed powers. It all sounded like bullshit and also like none of Harold’s business. However, when Harold brought the notebook back to the room and read certain sections aloud to Klaus, the weirdness of the contents broke through even Klaus’s outrage. The whole part about Vanya being able to control fucking sound waves wasn’t so interesting to him—he half thought it was probably fake or some kind of mistake, besides which, who cared about their powers? None of their powers ever did them any good. But then there came a section about Reginald deciding to have Vanya’s powers suppressed because they were dangerous.

Apparently he’d had Allison make Vanya forget she had the powers? And make all of them forget it too? Or something like that? And ever since then he’d had Vanya take drugs in order to keep her powers away from her?

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa,” Klaus said. He would have held up his hands, but they were tied to the headboard; he did open them, brandishing his tattooed palms. “Hold up. Reggie put Vanya on drugs so her powers wouldn’t work?”

“Right?” Harold shut the notebook. “That’s terrible!”

“That’s so hypocritical!” Klaus exclaimed. “I mean, I came up with that idea several years later, the whole using drugs thing, and he was really down on it! He told me I was destroying my potential and my body, and he fucking was doing the same thing for Vanya all along? Why is it fine for Vanya but not for me?”

“It’s not fine for Vanya either. She shouldn’t have something so important shut away like that.”

“Okay, yes, that is very shady—” Reggie typical levels of shady, honestly. “—and she should probably know about all this shit but seriously, the guy knew that drugs worked for this kind of thing and was fine with using it for Vanya but not for me? He knew I needed it! I bet he had her on some kind of perfectly concocted cocktail…”

“The recipe’s here,” Harold said. “They’re kind of like antidepressants. Except also not.”

“…and I had to chug along with any street drugs I could get my hands on.” Klaus sighed mournfully. “Seriously…”

“I think,” Harold said, “you’re reacting to the wrong thing here. But I guess I shouldn’t expect more from you.”

Ben, who had returned halfway through Harold’s reading through the book, let out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“Vanya’s been denied her abilities her whole life. She’s been made to think she’s just ordinary. That’s a terrible thing. Your father did this to her, and no one ever helped her out.”

Was it just Klaus, or was Harold guilt tripping _him_ , the guy he’d just fucking kidnapped?

“But not anymore,” Harold said. “From now on, she’s going to have me. Just like you.”

“Wait. Are you going to _kidnap Vanya_?”

Ben stalked over to stand behind Harold and glared at him. He was only mildly protective of Klaus, but in life he’d been protective of Vanya to a greater extent. They all worried about Vanya, poor powerless (maybe not so powerless) Vanya. And Klaus knew how to deal with scumbags and assholes and even kidnappers (he’d never been in a situation like this, but he’d been in some not so dissimilar) but Vanya? She wouldn’t even have a clue.

“Of course not,” Harold huffed. “I’m not stupid. Keeping two people in this house at the same time would be much too hard—besides, she has an actual job. People would notice she was missing.”

“Seriously,” Ben said, “this guy is just beating up on you, huh? Not so much of a fan as he claims to be.”

“I’m just going to enlighten her to her true nature,” Harold said.

“So you’re going to leave her the book?”

Harold sighed. “What kind of person would I be if I just left her to grapple with a discovery like this alone? No. I’m going to help her. I’m…” He glanced at his watch. “…actually, I have a violin lesson with her in a couple hours. I signed up for it online last night. There was an open slot.”

“…what?”

“He’s a very efficient stalker,” Ben noted.

“Good way to introduce myself, I figured,” Harold said. “Not all meetings can be just serendipity, after all.”

He smiled at Klaus. Despite everything, his smile was still sweet and fond. It gave the impression that he’d known Klaus for ages and liked him the whole time he’d known him. No wonder Klaus had been so into him yesterday—no one looked at him like that. Not even Allison, though she came the closest.

“Serendipity,” he muttered bitterly. Yeah, sure was lucky to meet a jewel like fucking Harold.

But Harold must have taken that as agreement, because he leaned closer and kissed Klaus on the lips. Klaus pulled away. He’d been into the guy yesterday; not so much today.

Harold sighed. “Well, you’ve had breakfast. I’m going to head out, there’s work to do before my lesson. Would you rather stay in bed or be taped to a chair while I’m gone?”

“Such a luxury of options,” Klaus said.

“Klaus.”

Klaus looked over at Ben, who grinned and nodded. “I’ll take a chair. Nice to have a change of scenery.”

As soon as Harold untied his hands, he lunged for Harold’s throat. But Harold, who looked like a total wimp and had been a complete bottom last night, turned out to be actually kind of strong. He hit Klaus in the neck; then, while he was choking, he dragged him out of the bed, trailing sheets and blankets behind him. He was thrown to the ground. As he started to rise, Harold kicked him in the stomach, leaving him breathless.

Then he just walked out. Klaus was still on the ground.

“Get up,” Ben said.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Klaus hissed. But it was hard to get his arms steady. What had he been on last night? And how many hours had it been since then? He was barely upright when Harold returned with an innocent wooden chair.

Harold said, “Sit.”

“No,” Klaus growled. He grabbed a lamp off the bedside table, yanking it so the plug came out of the socket. “Get out of my way.”

Ben was watching from the side, fists clenched.

Harold sighed. He picked up the chair, hefted it in front of him, and ran at Klaus with the legs pointed straight at him. It crashed right into his stomach and ribs and sent him sprawling. He threw the lamp at Harold’s head, but Harold dodged, and the lamp broke on the ground. There were shards—if Klaus got to one of them, he could probably use one as a shiv—but Harold was on him, muttering angrily about the lamp as he grappled Klaus’s flying fists and dragged him towards the chair, now set down on the ground.

“Come on! Come _on_!” Ben said.

Klaus flailed, but… he just was not in the best shape today. Or for the past year, honestly. Harold shoved him into the chair and within a few minutes he was securely duct taped.

Ben sank down onto the bed in disappointment.

Harold fetched a bucket and left it in Klaus’s lap. “You might be going into withdrawal soon. I don’t know how long it’s been since you last…” he shrugged. “Well, this is in case you need to vomit. But don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

He left after ruffling Klaus’s hair one last time.

“That was pathetic,” Ben said as soon as he was gone. As if he’d waited for them to have privacy. Ha. “Seriously? You had your chance, and he just…”

“Look,” Klaus said, “I tried.”

Ben sighed.

It was at this point that Klaus realized he was still naked, and had been for the entire fight. The duct tape was going to hurt like a bitch when it was removed. He groaned. “Fuck,” he said sincerely, “my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't leave notes at the end of the first chapter bc they always end up shifting anyways but  
> hi guys! I was really happy about how many ppl commented last chapter, it was quite motivational! I'm sloooowly responding to comments, and even if I haven't gotten around to it yet, I appreciate hearing from you!  
> I'm probably going to be updating this fic somewhat irregularly. Basically my policy is that when I finish writing a chapter, I publish the chapter before it, so that I'm always a little ahead of what I have posted--otherwise I tend to lose steam.  
> Anyways. Klaus is in a bind, Ben is frustrated as always, and Harold is having a relatively good day. Really I wonder if Reginald had been a better parent if there would have been a safe way to medicate Klaus if his powers were that horrifying for him--though I think his horror revolving around ghosts is as much bc of childhood trauma as anything else, seeing as they're can't be THAT many gruesome ghosts around constantly. Anyways Reginald sucked so it's kind of a moot point, but you gotta wonder....  
> Next chapter we'll be seeing Vanya. I hope y'all are enjoying yourselves!


	3. Chapter 3

Meeting Vanya was, for Harold, kind of a big deal.

Not that he wasn’t happy to have met Klaus—he really liked Klaus, as it turned out!—but this was on another level. For one, this was a planned meeting, not just an accidental running-into-each-other. Almost like a date. For another, Vanya was _Vanya_. She was the author of _Extra Ordinary_ , Harold’s main reliable source for information on the Umbrella Academy. She was the most like Harold of any of them, having been told all her life that she was “just ordinary”, and kept separate from everyone else. And she was in need of his help, which was a big responsibility. It gave Harold shivers just thinking about it.

But he’d been taking on plenty of responsibility lately, and he thought he was ready. So he put on his jacket and headed over to the apartment advertised online, and knocked on the door.

He heard, first, the sound of a violin playing. Of course Vanya would be at work. Then, after he knocked, the sound of a voice: “Not now, Mrs. Kowalski!”

He knocked some more. And eventually Vanya answered.

She was mid-sentence when she opened the door, and apparently seeing Harold left her tongue-tied. Seeing as she’d been speaking to a “Mrs. Kowalski”, and that was not him. Some neighbor who had a runaway cat—well, Harold tried to put her at ease. He’d heard he was decent at that. He was decent, for example, at customer service, though he’d never held down one of those jobs for long.

Anyways.

Vanya did seem nervous, more nervous than Harold had expected from the author of such fluid prose as _Extra Ordinary_. Her looks, at least, were more or less the same as her portrait on the back cover. She had the same haircut, the same high forehead and flat brown eyes and neutral expression. Neutral but friendly.

He thought he was going to like her.

“…I should stop talking, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

And so he entered Vanya Hargreeves’ apartment.

It was nothing too grand, but considering the other Hargreeves he’d met was homeless, it was still pretty good. Not a lot of junk lying around. A couch, a couple chairs. As Vanya continued to talk—and he was listening, really, even answering a bit absent-mindedly, there was just a lot to see—he picked up the violin he must have been hearing her play. The wood was a rich brown. He picked up the bow. He’d never tried to play a violin before, but he didn’t dislike the idea of learning from her, even if it was largely a ruse. He touched the bow to the strings; they screeched.

Vanya chuckled. “Ah, I’ll take that. We’re just going to start with the basics.”

She had a nice laugh, when she wasn’t using it to be self deprecating. Harold sat and watched her put the violin in its correct position, nestled against the arch of her neck. She was wearing a dark plaid shirt buttoned up so high that it almost touched the violin; the color contrasted with her skin, though not violently, not like Klaus’s black coat contrasted with _his_ bleached-out face. Vanya might have the same problem as Klaus—her powers suppressed by drugs, her life ruined by Reginald Hargreeves—but she seemed mostly healthy regardless. Normal.

Though, that thought made Harold clench his fists slightly. Vanya shouldn’t be normal, really. She wasn’t—but now she was looking at him in concern, and he forced himself to smile and focus.

“Here. You think you can hold it?” She handed him the violin. He tried the pose as she had done it; she corrected his posture gently.

“Thanks.”

They’d been practicing for a half hour, and it had been a good half hour, when he cleared his throat. “Umm… I’m sorry, but… do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

She laughed, but she’d gone back to being a little nervous. “No, no, that’s fine. It’s right down the hall, to the left.”

“Thanks, sorry, I’ll be right back, sorry to waste your time.”

“You’re the one paying for it.”

He laughed and went down the hall.

In the bathroom he had a look in the medicine cabinet. There was some cold medicine and some cough drops, a little Tylenol—no need to mess with any of that for now—but no sign of the bottle he really wanted. Damn it. Maybe she kept it in her car, or in her purse? Maybe she wasn’t taking it anymore… no, that was stupidly optimistic, if she were off the drugs then she wouldn’t still be slumming it as a violin teacher, she’d be using her powers for great things. Sure, her siblings mostly had laid off using their powers, but this was Vanya. She understood what it was to be special; she’d been denied it for long enough.

No, they just weren’t here. He’d have to look in other places later. No time right now, Vanya would notice if he took too long. He washed his hands and went back out.

The lesson went pretty well. Harold was kind of distracted, and even so Vanya taught him some basic chords. “You’re a pretty good teacher,” he told her, when their hour was up.

Vanya chuckled, but it was fully self deprecating. “I’m not the best. My next student could probably teach me some things. She’s a real prodigy.”

Looking her in the eyes, he felt a sudden surge of tenderness. Poor Vanya. Always comparing herself to the extraordinary, always thinking she was nothing. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I have never been a prodigy at anything.”

It was a truth that stung him sometimes, but today it seemed like a blessing; it made her relax. “That makes two of us.”

Poor Vanya. She’d know the truth soon enough.

The lesson was over but he lingered. Vanya was interesting. He didn’t want to leave yet. “Does it seem weird to you, a guy my age learning violin?”

“Van Gogh only started painting at twenty-seven,  Monet in his forties when his wife died. I’d say if you have a passion for music, it’s never too late.”

“Passion.” He snorted. “No, that’s…” Oh shit, he hadn’t come up with an actual reason for why he was taking violin lessons now in the first place. He should have gone with the passion idea. Well, he could improvise. “…more my dad’s thing. He was the one who was into music. Died years ago.” He wasn’t lying about that, at least, though his dad had never given a shit about music. “We, uh, didn’t get along very well. I’m wondering if maybe by learning the violin I could learn to understand him.”

“Well, that makes sense.”

“Family, huh. It’s never easy.”

Vanya smiled faintly. “Believe me, I know.”

And he knew she knew. He knew her family, or at least part of it. And there was her book, too. He knew all about her family problems. If only he could tell her he was here to take care of some of them! But that would come later, now was not the time.

He gave her the address of his woodshop. He’d closed it for the time being to deal with Klaus, but he’d be dropping by sometimes, and besides, he’d be opening it back up again soon enough—woodwork put food on the table, he couldn’t abandon it indefinitely. And if he had to wait a week to see her again, until their next scheduled lesson, that would be fine.

He already had one Hargreeves to deal with.

* * *

As he drove back home he wondered how two siblings like Klaus and Vanya could emerge from the same family.

Shouldn’t be such a hard question, really. He knew many siblings were very different, it just puzzled him all the same, never having had a sibling himself. And _Extra Ordinary_ had tried to describe all the things that made each Umbrella Academy member who they were, but there were places where Vanya minced words or places where Harold still just didn’t understand her. And really, how did one family birth Klaus and Vanya? Klaus, constantly talkative and wildly emotional, his life a wreck but himself utterly confident about the ways he was wrecking it. Vanya, her life perfectly put together if somewhat ordinary, but herself so unconfident, so shuttered and self deprecating and nervous and quiet, surety only emerging from her when they discussed the violin. The two were not at all the same.

Though, Harold thought, there was something there, but it was hard to pinpoint. Perhaps it was that you could tell both of them had a sense of something greater than themselves that they could never reach. That was how Harold liked to interpret it anyways. It was how he felt himself, when he thought about the Umbrella Academy, what he could have been, what he wasn’t.

He pulled up to his house and went on in. He could hear the sound of Klaus’s voice, a couple rooms away, even as he took off his jacket and shoes. Muffled by the walls between them, but still audible—sounded like he was answering a question. He’d considered leaving Klaus gagged in case he started screaming and someone came by or called the police, but his walls were reasonably thick, and this wasn’t a very curious neighborhood. And whenever Klaus went into serious withdrawal, he’d probably need to vomit, which wouldn’t be very pretty if he was gagged. People choked that way.

Harold tried his best to be considerate in ways like this, in his everyday life. It wasn’t always easy. He’d spent twelve years in jail mostly just looking after himself, and he knew that people, in general, didn’t bother to be kind. But he himself was trying to be better.

He called out as he headed into the bedroom, “Hey, I’m home!”

Klaus, whose chair was facing the door, looked up at him and said, “…great.” For a moment he stared tensely at Harold. Then, with a sigh, he relaxed, hands unclenching against the arms of the chair, chin dropping, back wilting.

He still had the bucket in his lap, but judging just by the smell of the room, he hadn’t needed it yet. Harold took it off him and placed it in the corner. Next, he inspected the tape. It had come a little loose—Klaus had clearly tested it—but it was still holding up pretty well considering that Harold had been gone for some hours.

“So, it’s been a few hours,” Klaus said, “maybe you’ve had time to think over your plans and realize that they’re complete bullshit.”

Harold just looked at him.

“Come on. I can get you money, if you want. That would make you much happier, right? I’m a fucking heir to a dead millionaire right now, let’s just make this simple…”

Withdrawal hadn’t seriously set in, Harold thought, but Klaus did look antsy. He was getting sweaty, and his eyes were open very wide. He stood. “It’s kind of late. I should make us dinner. But I should probably get you something to drink first—just water,” he added quickly, “but that would be good, right? People in withdrawal are supposed to get a lot of water…” He’d seen this on a quick research binge last night. Actually he probably needed to look into treatment a little more thoroughly, considering he’d been too busy with the notebook about Vanya to do that much research at all.

“You have at least one more bottle of scotch, right? Please.”

Harold patted Klaus on the head. “I’ll be right back.”

He fetched a glass of water for Klaus, and Klaus drank about half of it before butting it with his head and spilling it all over the floor, and over himself. Harold glanced at how the water speckled on his legs, like the rain on his skin last night. There were other things he should have been focusing on, of course. But…

He patted his sleeve against Klaus’s thigh, soaking the water up. His sleeve was left kind of damp, of course—he rolled it up. He glanced back down at Klaus’s leg, now mostly dry. He was so thin, and his skin so pale, any kind of mark stood out easily: veins, a couple scars, track marks.

“No. _No_.”

Harold startled at the sound of Klaus’s voice. He looked up to see Klaus looking down at him with childish fury. The gaze went past Harold’s face—he followed it down and saw his hand had come to rest halfway up Klaus’s thigh, fingers splayed wide. Absent-minded.

Of course he removed it.

“Sorry, I’ll just… go fetch a towel.” There was still a lot of water spilled on the floor, soaking into the rug. “You really made a mess.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you.”

God, Klaus was in a foul mood. Though, if he was only going into withdrawal now, it would probably get worse before it got better. Harold was prepared.

He mopped up the water as much as he could, left the towel on the ground to soak up anymore, and having ascertained that Klaus needed nothing more from him—except, as he said, to be let out of the damn chair—he headed to the kitchen to whip up some dinner. Nothing too prolonged tonight; he didn’t want to leave Klaus alone for long, after all. He made a stir-fry with chicken, onions, broccoli and peppers. He wasn’t a bad cook. He’d learned to cook when he was a child, trial and error out of recipe books for the most part, and although for a long time he’d had to go without practice, he still had a knack for it. So he thought, anyway. He didn’t often get a chance to cook for anyone else. One of these days he’d have to test something more complicated out on Klaus—maybe a casserole or a quiche?

Since Klaus had been so intent on getting out of the chair, Harold figured it would be okay. He cut the duct tape loose on Klaus’s arms. Klaus sighed and rubbed his wrists as Harold cut the duct tape attached to his ankles.

“Well, it smells good, anyhow. You said it was chicken? Great, I love…”

Then his legs were free, and he lunged.

It didn’t catch Harold by surprise that he would try to escape, just like he had this morning. His level of vigor was surprising though, as was the speed at which he went into action, interrupting himself mid-sentence. He bowled Harold over for a second, and he got out the door of the bedroom. Harold hauled himself up and chased after him. Thing was, he’d been tied up all day—didn’t make a guy an effective runner. Harold caught up on the stairs, which was inconvenient—he didn’t want to break his or Klaus’s neck. They wrestled precariously. Harold got an elbow to the eye, which dazed him for long enough that Klaus made it all the way down the stairs and turned the corner into the living room.

Fuck. Harold vaulted over the railing of the stairs and landed half on top of Klaus. He used the momentum to shove Klaus to the ground. Klaus wouldn’t stop squirming; Harold drew out the knife he’d used to cut the tape. He put the edge against Klaus’s shoulder. Holding it gently, so that it rose and fell with Klaus’s struggles—he didn’t want to cut down without meaning to. “Shh… Klaus, calm down. We’re going to have dinner.”

Klaus’s body stilled and his mouth went into play instead, spewing a steady stream of insults. Some of them were in German—Harold wished he remembered more of the German he’d taken in high school, but at least he could interpret the tone. He sat on Klaus’s back, waiting for him to calm down, one hand on the back of Klaus’s neck and the other holding the knife.

He was a little hard. He swallowed. Right after dinner, he’d have to make Klaus put some clothes on. Just not yet—he wasn’t really up for forcing Klaus to do much right now. After this fiasco, it was probably better to tie him up again.

* * *

Five was having a fucking terrible day. Just like basically every day for the past forty-five years—scratch that, just like every day of his life. The world existed to frustrate him and to eventually terminate itself for unspecified reasons. Eventually meaning in eight days, and yet he’d wasted nearly this entire day accomplishing nothing.

Vanya had basically told him last night she thought he was crazy. And she’d been the one of his six siblings most likely to believe him when he told her his wild theories or calculations. Back in the day, anyhow. If she didn’t believe him, no one would.

So he’d tried to find the source of the fake eye alone, but that had basically come to nothing. Meritech wouldn’t talk business with a fifteen-year-old. Being fifteen again sucked.

So then he’d thought he could find an adult to accompany him. Vanya, of course, was right out. Allison would likely share her attitude—though the two had never really gotten along that well, they’d been oddly similar in some ways. Diego and Luther would want to get involved if he was up to something shady or important in any way; they were busybodies who never let anything lie. And Ben was fucking dead. So that really only left one option, Klaus.

Five had figured Klaus was at least a possibility because Klaus never really gave a shit. When they were kids, you could propose basically any scheme to him, and it would be fifty-fifty whether he was in or out, based mostly on his mood. He didn’t tend to ask for a “why”, more just a “how”, and the shadier the better (as long as he wasn’t expected to do anything too athletic). If anything, he might object to pretending to be Five’s dad because it seemed too boring. But Five thought he could probably persuade him.

And maybe he would have been able to persuade him, if Klaus had fucking been around. But he hadn’t been in his childhood bedroom, he hadn’t been sulking in Ben’s bedroom, he hadn’t been stealing food from the kitchen or more valuable items from the study, he hadn’t been anywhere in the mansion at all. And the brief on the modern Klaus in _Extra Ordinary_ hadn’t been nearly detailed enough for Five to make a guess at where the fuck else he might be in town.

So Five was stuck. He had no new strategies for confronting the guy. He could break into Meritech and look through their physical files at night if he had to, but likely most of their files were online, and he was no hacker. Honestly, he didn’t know what he should do.

As night fell, he came to the easiest conclusion: As always when he had a predicament, he would seek out Delores. She, at least, he was pretty sure he knew where to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This day is lasting a long time in this fic--it stretches into next chapter too, though only a little. Anyways. I'm not sure how far the Harold/Vanya angle is going to go in this fic, but one can't avoid it entirely. Harold's obsession with Vanya is like... very in character for him, whatever else is going on in his life, bc she reminds him of himself, besides which, she wrote a damn book. (Also bc she's cute and honestly who wouldn't be into her.) But Harold's primary concern/interest/hobby right now is Klaus.  
> Next chapter: Klaus finally puts some clothes on. Also some other stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

Klaus was having a hell of an evening.

The stir fry was actually decent—he couldn’t complain—but the fact that he’d been eating it with his hands duct taped at the wrists was less than ideal. And the evening only went downhill from there.

Harold brought him back upstairs at knifepoint (despite his protesting vehemently—he’d rather stay as close to the exit as possible even if his chances of escape were currently low), but after fetching Klaus a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, neither of which fit, they left the bedroom and went into a room he called his “work room”.

“I think the evening is the most inspiring time of day,” Harold said. He had Klaus situated in a chair, wrists still taped together but ankles taped to the chair legs and upper arms taped to the chair’s back. Klaus slumped back and rolled his eyes. “A lot of my work is creative, but this is the only time when I really work on my art. The rest of it… a lot of it’s just rote restoration.”

Ben flitted into the room. He’d been roaming the building all day, sometimes at Klaus’s side and other times elsewhere. He was restless—well, so was Klaus, and he would have been out of here long ago if it were up to him. But it wasn’t. He glanced at Ben and they looked at each other in commiseration. Today sucked.

But then Ben’s gaze moved past Klaus, and his eyes widened. Klaus quickly looked back to Harold too, and saw that while he’d put down the knife he’d been using to threaten Klaus, he’d taken a new knife out of a drawer.

Klaus cringed back in his seat. He didn’t like Harold holding a knife. It was not so long since Harold had been holding one to Klaus’s neck. He’d held it steadily, certainly, like someone who knew how to use it. And earlier, when Klaus had bolted, he’d cut himself on that knife accidentally—Harold had been cutting the tape on his legs, and Klaus had scratched himself as he lunged forward. Before dinner, Harold had scoldingly put a Band-Aid on the cut. He didn’t _seem_ to like cutting Klaus.  But he wasn’t exactly hesitant about hurting Klaus either—Klaus had acquired several bruises from their fights, his ribs hurt, and his wrists and ankles were chafed from the ropes and tape. None of this honestly seemed to bother Harold all that much. So, Klaus didn’t like the sight of him holding a knife.

Harold saw him looking squeamish and laughed awkwardly. “Sorry! I guess I never explained. I’m a woodworker,” he said. “My job is mostly restoring antiques, stuff like that. But my hobby is woodcarving original works. Not that I do it as much as I’d like.”

“Carving, huh.” Klaus forced himself to relax.

“Yeah. It’s really pretty fun, once you get the hang of it. I took a class in prison, it was one of the shops. They let me do it more often than some others because I wasn’t violent. And because I was good.”

Prison? This was something Harold hadn’t mentioned before. But he didn’t explain the comment. Instead, he began to rummage through a drawer, eventually bringing out a block of darkish wood, which he explained to Klaus was black walnut.

“It’s expensive,” Harold said, “I don’t use it for most of my projects. Usually I use aspen or butternut. Sometimes basswood, though I’m kind of tired of that. Nothing wrong with it, but it’s kind of a beginner’s wood.”

Klaus was trying to find a pun to do with hard wood when Harold said, “I thought I’d use something special for this project because it’s for Vanya.”

“Vanya?” Ben said. He leaned over Klaus’s shoulder.

“Vanya?” Klaus echoed.

“Oh yeah, we never talked about her,” Harold said. “Because we got kind of distracted.” He shrugged. “Well… she seems nice, huh? Obviously you know that. She’s your sister.”

“She _is_ my sister,” Klaus said, “so… if you lay a hand on her, I should warn you…”

Harold, who had been fiddling with the piece of wood, making marks on it with a piece of chalk, looked up, very serious. “Klaus, if you’re worried that I would hurt your sister, don’t be. I’d never do anything like that.”

“…sure. You’re an upstanding fucking citizen.”

“I realize I’ve made a bad impression on you, but really. You have nothing to worry about from me.”

Ben whistled. “This guy is really oblivious, huh?” But despite his light tone, his brow was furrowed.

Klaus half wanted to tell him to go keep an eye on Vanya, keep her safe, but that would hardly do any good. Ben might see Harold getting up to funny business, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. So they both remained, as ever, eminently useless. Klaus groaned. His body ached, and the room felt cold even now that he had clothes on. Harold needed better heating.

Harold began to cut into the wood. As he cut, he talked. “I think Vanya and I really connected, actually. We’re similar people. I’ve known that ever since I read her book. Have you read it?”

“Once,” Klaus said, “and it was in rehab, so I even absorbed some of it. But I’d already lived through most of the material, so…” he shrugged. “It wasn’t all that riveting.”

He’d spent most of the rest of the day complaining to Ben, the two of them trying to figure out how she could be so cruel as to strip the family bare for the world to see, how she could talk about them in that distant, belittling way she did. She’d made him sound pitiful—as if he’d had no control over his actions, over his life, even though he’d always known perfectly well the consequences of his own bad decisions, he’d just decided they were worth it. She’d made Ben sound… flat. As flat as dead. That was a problem the whole family had, though. They only knew Ben in the past tense, and they remembered him as being a good person, kind of quiet but occasionally funny, afraid of his own powers, blah blah blah. No one remembered he was also kind of a snarky asshole, or the fact that he used to hero-worship Five and Luther, or the fact that he always had a complicated, self-loathing hero complex, or… well, a lot of things. Only Klaus remembered those things anymore, just like only he knew himself well enough to say that _Extra Ordinary_ had gotten him wrong.

That or he was the one who was wrong. Probably most people would say that. And what did he know about all this psychoanalytical bullshit? Most of the time he was too high or drunk to really think too hard about it anyways, and that was how he liked it.

But forget all that.

“I mean,” he continued, “I didn’t really need to be reminded about all those times I stole Vanya’s makeup and her nail polish, and how terrible…”

“Actually she’s very understanding,” Harold interrupted. “I think a lot of people could learn from her.”

Klaus felt that this comment was somewhat pointed towards him, so he scoffed and looked at Ben, who was still glaring at Harold for daring to talk about Vanya in the first place.

The knife snicked at the wood, peeling away shreds and chips. And Harold talked about his newfound love for Vanya. He just thought they had so much in common (as if) and was sure that when he was able to tell Vanya the truth about… everything… it would only get better. For now he was lying about basically everything, though, including his fucking name. Apparently he was worried that she would look the name “Harold Jenkins” up and find out about his criminal record, as if Vanya was the kind of stalker he was, as if she’d care that much about a student. Pfft.

Klaus mostly ignored him. He also tried to ignore the shivers building in his body, the aches that grew less distant with every minute, the way his jaw kept on clenching no matter how he tried to relax it. The sweat soaking into his T-shirt, the twitchiness in his eyes. And worst of all, the foggy outline behind Harold’s back, a figure not yet come into resolution.

He closed his eyes to shut it out, and fell asleep to the sound of carving and Harold’s droning voice. Straight into dreams of confused faces and limbs, some of them with the flesh peeled away to the bone, of laughter and screaming intermingled, of the texture of stone rubbing against his hands. Of childhood. Of his life ever since.

* * *

When he woke up he wished he hadn’t.

His stomach hurt fiercely, and he moved to get off the unusually clean bed he was in, find something to throw up in or at least throw up on the floor—but his hands were tied to the headboard, and he found himself retching onto the clean, white pillowcase instead. He turned his head away, as soon as he was certain he was done. He was familiar with the sour, acidic smell of vomit, but it never exactly became pleasant.

His whole body felt weak, and it trembled. He looked up to see Ben hovering over him, and he said, “I’m fine.”

Fuck. He needed a fix. He needed a fix, damn it—at the very least he needed some stiff vodka, but what he really needed was some pills, he wasn’t particular what kind, or some nice, ground-up cocaine. As a cramp spiked through his belly, he groaned and amended his thoughts: he’d settle for some fucking weed if it was all he could get, though the pills would be best, and he knew there were pills downstairs in his coat, he’d had some left from the dealer yest—no, two days ago now—anyways there had been some still left, he’d gotten plenty of money for that box and this dealer was no cheat, if only he could get downstairs and get a goddamn fix…

He tugged viciously at the rope on his wrists, but there was little force behind the pull. He’d been well-fed the past couple days, better than his usual, and he’d gotten plenty of sleep, but withdrawal trumped all that. Withdrawal destroyed him.

“Breathe, Klaus,” Ben intoned. “You’re in the worst of it now. But you’ll get out fine.” _You’ve done it before_ , was the implication, and Klaus had—he’d been to rehab plenty of times, been there done that got the bracelet—but that didn’t make it easier. In some ways knowing how it went made it worse.

“Harold’s downstairs,” Ben said, “I’ve been patrolling. He hasn’t been up for long, you woke up pretty early.”

“Yeah,” Klaus gasped, “it’s hard to sleep when your insides want to be your outsides.”

“I’m familiar,” Ben said, crossing his arms. Shit—that probably wasn’t the best line to use on him. Oh well, at least tentacle boy could try to be empathetic, but no, too hard to give some sympathy to your half-dead brother when you were all dead and therefore had it harder than anyone else…

What was there to say… Klaus didn’t really give a shit about anything right now except the pain but he forced himself to think, get his mind off it all, and say, “How’d his fucking sculpture come out? What did he make, a skull and crossbones? Or, he kept talking about ducks…”

“A violinist,” Ben said. “A woman.”

“Shit,” Klaus said. “God, he’s so creepy. I’m going to kill him.” He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “Fucking Vanya. Why’d he go after her? Why’d he go after me?” At the moment, that was the more relevant question. “It’s not… Oh God, I’m going to kill him.”

“Yeah,” Ben said reassuringly. “Yeah, we’ll kill him. You’ll be better able to kill him when you’re sober, Klaus. Deep breaths.”

That look in Ben’s eyes. Empathy, yes, but mixed with anticipation. Klaus sneered. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“ _Don’t be an asshole, Klaus. You should get sober, Klaus. You’re such a whiny loser, Klaus._ ” Klaus twittered an imitation. “Fuck you.”

Ben sighed. “Guess I’ll go see what Harold’s up to.”

“Ben—no, wait, Ben. Stay here. You won’t leave me, will you? Come on. You know I’m your favorite brother, and you’re my favorite brother, the only one I keep in touch with—I didn’t mean it. Come on.”

Ben paused at the door, sighed again, came back, and sat on the edge of Klaus’s bed. Klaus sighed too, in a combination of relief and agony.

He was trying to listen to Ben and breathe and think past the pain and the shaking and the smell of vomit when Harold showed up. He took a long look at Klaus, then crossed the room and pulled the pillow out from under his head.

“I’ll get you a new pillow. But we should probably get you a bucket.”

Klaus muttered something, but when Harold asked him to repeat it, he couldn’t remember what it was.

“I know you won’t want to eat, but we should still get you something. And you probably shouldn’t stay in this position, you don’t look comfortable.”

Of course it wasn’t. Still, there was something more important to be done, and Klaus remembered what it was. “Harold.”

“Yes, Klaus?”

“I want my coat back. Can I please have my coat.”

Harold frowned. “Are you that cold? I know withdrawal can cause shivering, but I can get you some extra blankets. I have plenty, and they’re probably more comfortable.”

“Please, Harold. I just need my coat. I just… it’s very important to me. It’s a comfort object,” Klaus said, widening his eyes innocently, “it makes me feel safe, makes me know… everything will be okay.”

“Everything _will_ be okay,” Harold said. “You know that, right? This is for the best.”

Klaus nearly pulled a muscle holding back a grimace. “Yes. Just… my coat?”

“Let’s bring you downstairs.”

Klaus didn’t try to fight Harold untying him from the bed. He barely resisted when Harold taped his wrists together again, either. He could still get at his pockets with taped wrists, it wouldn’t be that hard. Once he’d gotten a fix, he’d be stronger. He could take Harold on easily then.

Ben leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head. “You know, the hardest thing about watching you is seeing how easily you throw everything away.”

“Shut up,” Klaus muttered. That was not helpful feedback!

Downstairs, Harold insisted he sit in the living room as Harold got out his coat—apparently the closet was too close to the door. Klaus had no real desire to go against a knife right now, getting the pills being a higher priority than getting out for the moment, so he complied. In ten minutes—in two minutes, if he could make it work—he’d be good to go, in fighting condition. He could bide his time.

Ben sat next to him on the couch. “You know it’s not going to be that easy. He’s not just going to let you pop some pills.”

“No one has ever let me do anything,” Klaus said under his breath. “Why are you so defeatist?”

“…well, at least you’re motivated about something.”

“Shut up.”

“Is Ben around?” Harold asked, emerging with the coat. Black, soft, and so classy… it did make Klaus happy to see it, even if he had ulterior motives.

“Ben is everything and everywhere,” Klaus said. “He’s like the air.”

Speaking of the air, the air behind Harold in particular was starting to take on a more definite shape than last night. It was a man, Klaus could tell that much, a man of average height and weight. Something was wrong with his head. And he was angry.

Pretty typical for a ghost. Not very interesting, though still disturbing—much like vomit. God, Klaus wanted the damn pills. He held out his taped hands for the coat. Harold held it out, then seemed to rethink that, pulled it back, and reached into the left pocket.

“Hey,” Klaus said. “Hey, that’s my stuff. You can’t just…”

Harold pulled out a couple Kleenex and receipts, which he threw away. A pair of sunglasses, which he set on the table. Then he reached into the right pocket and pulled out the baggie with the pills.

“Asthma medication,” Klaus lied.

Harold shook his head. “Klaus. Don’t you know me well enough by now to know I’m not stupid?”

He crumpled the baggie in his fist. Klaus stumbled to his feet and lunged at him. Fuck it. He needed the damn—

Harold backhanded him across the face, but he forced himself closer to Harold, kept on him. Grabbed at the fist with the baggie. So close, so close…

There was a knife against his neck, but he didn’t care. So kill him then. Harold was talking, threats. He didn’t care. Kill him then, kill him then… The word inflamed him, and he stopped grabbing at the baggie. He brought his hands to Harold’s throat—even taped they could still stretch just far enough…

And then pain in his gut. He dropped to the ground.

He thought for a moment that he’d been stabbed, and when he looked down he saw blood spreading. But then he blinked and the blood was gone, a momentary hallucination. It must have been just a punch, but his stomach already hurt so much.

“Klaus. Klaus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ben. Hey… will you beat this guy up for me? He sucks…”

His eyes were blurry, and he couldn’t really see Ben, but he could hear him laugh. Sad and relieved. Typical Ben.

Then Harold was there, dragging him to his feet. He said he’d washed the pills down the sink. Had he been gone long enough for that? Damn. Klaus could have fucking gotten out of here in that long, if he were more himself, if he were stronger, if he were more aware of what was fucking going on. The ghost hovering over Harold’s shoulder sneered at him, and he scowled back. Harold sucked. He wasn’t scarier than the dead, though. No one was scarier than the dead.

* * *

He was taped to the same chair as yesterday, but this time it was put in the bathroom, next to the toilet, since he was in the thick of things. Harold patted the sweat off his skin with a paper towel, which he examined for a moment before throwing in the trash. Klaus didn’t really want to know what he was thinking about.

He wasn’t sure what he was more angry at Harold about at the moment: Kidnapping him, or throwing out the drugs. The one was a criminal offense, the other a denial of something Klaus needed so badly he could feel his blood boiling for it under his skin. He could hear his own voice keening for it; when he saw Harold looking at him sadly, he forced it into a growl instead.

Ben was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, perched so that his back wouldn’t go straight through the shower curtains. “Focus on me, Klaus. Don’t think about him.”

“I’m not thinking about him,” Klaus said, “I’m thinking about the pills he rinsed down the fucking sink. Those cost like a fucking hundred dollars!”

Ben did not look all that sympathetic. “Yeah, you have your priorities straight.”

“Shut up,” Klaus hissed. “Shut up. You have no idea what it’s like.”

“You shouldn’t fight with Ben.”

Klaus looked up. He’d almost forgotten Harold was there. But there he was, still with that preachy look on his damn face.

“Really,” Harold said, “you shouldn’t. Does he tell you you should get sober? Is that the issue?”

“Ben,” Klaus said, “is entirely on my side, you asshole.”

“We’re both on your side,” Harold said, “possibly more than you are yourself. This is good for you, Klaus. And when it’s over, you’ll admit that.”

“Sure. I’ll have a huge change of heart and go straight for the rest of my life.” Klaus coughed. He could feel a new wave of nausea mounting; goddamn. He croaked, “Like hell.”

Harold shook his head. But he wasn’t looking at Klaus. He was looking at the shower curtains, slightly to the left of Ben, aiming by Klaus’s gaze earlier. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

Ben shook his head too. He slipped off the side of the tub and came to stand by Klaus’s side. “Klaus, don’t…”

“Shut up,” Klaus said, “shut up, shut up, shut up.”

He leaned forward—at least he wasn’t fastened as tightly to the chair as yesterday—and vomited into the toilet. It was only when he finished dry heaving that he realized Harold had come forward to hold back his hair. He sat back abruptly, jostling Harold off.

Harold said, “I’ll get you some water. And you still haven’t eaten. Maybe you could hold down some broth?” He continued talking, mostly to himself, as he walked out.

Leaving Klaus with the taste of acid still in his mouth, but at least no one watching him. He hitched the chair back and forth, little by little, until he’d shifted it to the door. He peered into the hall—coast clear. But they were still up a damn flight of stairs.

“If we fell down the stairs,” he murmured, “it might break the chair.”

“It might also break half the bones in your body,” Ben remarked, “but hey, you’ve never let that stop you.”

Klaus sagged. Ben was right, it wasn’t something he could reasonably attempt.

He drank the water when Harold brought it. He drank the broth. He threw it all up again about an hour later. And the cycle repeated.

Sometime after noon—not that Klaus had a clock, so he was just estimating—Harold said he should probably go out. Check up on some things on the woodshop, take care of a little business. He wouldn’t be gone long, he said, just for a bit, he’d be right back.

“Well I’m sure I’ll be dying without you,” Klaus said sarcastically. Though, in fact, he would kind of miss the water. But the lack of Harold’s presence would in some ways make up for it.

Harold looked at him with concern. He left the room for a minute, and returned with a tiny sculpture in his hands. A violinist.

“Here,” he said, setting her down on the sink counter. “She’ll keep you company. Well, her and Ben, I guess.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Klaus muttered. “A _statue_ of _Vanya_.”

“You don’t talk about them much,” Harold said, “but I can tell you care about your family.” He smiled. Klaus hated his smile; it was so warm and friendly. “I’ll be back. I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

Klaus stared at the violinist after he was gone. “…it does look kind of like Vanya.” He hadn’t seen her play the violin in years, but he remembered. Brought him back, really. When he thought about it, he remembered the days when she was first learning. Clair de la lune. Amazing Grace. Little Brown Jug. He’d been fond of the last one, but she’d played all of them often enough to drive the whole house crazy except Mom and Reginald, who’d been vaguely supportive as long as she didn’t play too late at night. He’d made fun of her, mimicking the noises she made, until she’d actually lose her temper at him, yelling at him to just get out, if he didn’t want to hear her then he didn’t have to listen. Untrue; you could hear her anywhere in the house. He couldn’t escape her any more than he could escape the ghosts. But occasionally he’d liked that music. It was… what was the word for it. Not cheerful, exactly. Determined. Bright, persistent, fierce. He’d spent many evenings lying on his bed, letting the sound of violins drown out the buzzing voices of angry ghosts.

“When this is over, we should go visit her,” Ben said.

Klaus startled from his thoughts. “…yeah.” God, he was itchy. His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair but he shifted his arms against the smooth wood, trying desperately to scratch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. We're finally on day two. According to the internet, withdrawal actually takes more like three days to get severe, but UA doesn't bother itself with realism too much so neither will I.  
> Klaus is generally harder to write for me than Harold, because I find him kind of a wild card (whereas Harold has obsessions, which make him actually pretty easy to predict), but at the moment his motivations are more or less clear to me which makes it a bit easier. Doubtless that will change.  
> Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter of mostly whump. Next chapter has awkward baths and Vanya, not necessarily at the same time.


	5. Chapter 5

There were just a few things Harold had to check on at the woodshop. He had a couple clients he needed to call, and he’d left his personal phonebook at the shop. And then, there was a project that needed just a little varnish that he’d been intending to finish yesterday, before yesterday got so busy… Anyways he didn’t like to abandon the place for too long. It was as much his home as his house. He’d started his business with a loan after getting out of prison, a loan that had been hard to get—no one liked to lend money to ex-cons, especially convicted felons (he’d been fifteen, damn it)—and he’d worked hard to get to the point where he could have a shop like this, one with plenty of space to work in and plenty of business to keep it going. His woodshop, he thought, was at least one thing that made him special; few people in this world found something that could be purely their own, and few people, having found something like that, could turn it into a living.

Anyhow. He didn’t like to be away from the shop for too long, but he couldn’t stay there for long today either; couldn’t leave Klaus alone for hours when he was in the middle of heavy withdrawal pangs. So he was in a hurry. He did pause to buy himself a coffee—Lord knew he needed it—but he was hustling down the street when he saw, of all people, Vanya Hargreeves standing outside his shop, looking in the window.

Of course he’d given her the address. But wasn’t this a bit too much of a coincidence? For her to be there at exactly the time he’d shown up. But he hurried forward and greeted her, and she greeted him with an expression that was halfway between pleasure and embarrassment.

It would be nice to see her just looking happy for once. Harold decided that would be a new goal to strive for.

“It was—I was in the area,” she said. Embarrassed to show she’d been interested in Harold, then. But Harold felt like glowing at the thought that she could be interested in him.

“In Bricktown? Huh.” Liar, liar… she didn’t live anywhere near here. “Well, might as well come in then.”

She seemed to like all the antique furniture. Harold could have showed her the pieces one by one, told her all their ages, their materials, the process of restoration. But he itched to show her something… more. Something more him more his. All these pieces, after all, were really someone else’s, belonged to their owners, to their original carvers.

He brought her to the back, drew aside the curtain, and showed her all the pieces he’d whittled himself.

“This is amazing,” she said. Her face was still as stoic as ever, but her eyes had widened slightly.

He shrugged. He didn’t show many people his carving; too personal. Showing it to Klaus last night had been a pretty big deal, actually, but, well, he’d seen more private parts of Klaus: Klaus doing drugs and drinking Scotch, Klaus asleep in his bed, Klaus in the early stages of withdrawal. He’d tasted Klaus’s tongue—they were well beyond personal. But showing this to Vanya was a new step in their relationship. He was showing himself as a person to Vanya. He hoped she liked it.

She did seem to, by the way she was scanning the shelf. She asked, “Which one is your favorite?”

“The ballerina’s probably my best. Or the duck. Or… the other duck,” he said with a chuckle. This would have been the perfect moment to show her the violinist he’d carved last night—it was a new favorite, he thought, and she’d inspired it. But he’d left it with Klaus. He’d show it to her another day, and maybe this was for the best. He didn’t want to look like he was getting ahead of himself.

He told her to stay and take a look around while he made his couple of calls. He gave up on the varnishing—it would keep. And then, they headed out together.

She was wearing a black coat that hung loosely on her frame. It reminded him of Klaus’s coat and the tussle they’d had this morning; not exactly fun. But of course this coat was different, less assuming yet classy. She also had her violin slung over her back like a minstrel of old.

“Why is it,” she asked, “that I’ve known you for only two days but I feel like you know me better than my own family?”

It had been longer than two days for him, but his heart still hurt a little. Vanya, Vanya, Vanya… because no one _had_ ever really understood her, which was something he hoped to fix. He badly wanted to ask her out for dinner or a drink, just prolong this moment a little. But Klaus was at home and while Harold and Vanya ate lasagna or Chinese, he’d be tasting nothing but acid and slowly dehydrating. No, it couldn’t be done. He sighed. When Vanya looked at him curiously, he took out his phone. “So, I know I’m your young and impressionable student, but… it might be nice to meet up again. Not by chance, I mean. I mean, can I have your number?”

They had barely exchanged numbers when Harold glimpsed another Hargreeves over Vanya’s shoulder. One basically anyone would have recognized, the movie star, Allison.

Vanya introduced him as Leonard, and he smiled politely and exclaimed on how she was famous. Seeing her in person brought back some memories. She used to be one of his favorites. Then, the day he’d tried to talk to Reginald, to join the Academy, she and Luther had been the ones he’d talked to. They’d already been telling him to leave when Reginald had intervened. Because they had known, just from looking at him, that he wasn’t special enough.

His fists clenched. He hoped he wasn’t being obvious.

“Vanya, you’re needed at home,” Allison said.

“Oh? But I was planning on…”

“We’re having a family meeting. Something’s come up.”

“And you thought I should be there?”

“Of course. You’re family.”

She said it like it should be obvious, but by Vanya’s hesitance, it clearly wasn’t. Harold cleared his throat. “You should go, Vanya. I’ll see you sometime soon?”

“Yeah,” Vanya said. “I’ll text.”

She offered him a sketchy wave as she walked away.

A family meeting meant a council of the Umbrella Academy, all five remaining members—or four, since Klaus wasn’t gonna be going this time. Harold frowned. What could be so important as to gather the Umbrella Academy so urgently? Was someone…

…oh, _shit_.

* * *

He hurried home to Klaus with a feeling of panic in his chest. Seeing Klaus still sitting on a chair in the bathroom made him relax ever so slightly. Maybe the Umbrella Academy was meeting to discuss his disappearance, and things would shortly go to shit; still, they hadn’t invaded on Harold’s home yet. Klaus was still here, still his, for the time being.

And apparently still in terrible condition.

The toilet had vomit in it. Harold flushed it, but the smell lingered. He sighed, and sprayed some air freshener. “Do you want some water?”

Klaus’s voice shook. “I want you to let me out of this damn house.”

“…water,” Harold decided. Klaus sounded too scratchy. He put a cup to Klaus’s lips, and Klaus drank the whole glass down with no complaint. Harold had probably been gone for too long.

“I ran into Vanya,” he told Klaus, glancing at the violinist on the sink.

“Oh, you just _happened_ to run into her?”

“Yes, actually. I’d given her the address of the woodshop. Hadn’t expected her to drop by so soon.” He ran a hand through Klaus’s hair. It was soaked with sweat, even long as it was, separating into salty clumps. “We should give really give you a bath, Klaus.”

Klaus looked up, and his eyes were almost as hopeful as they had been earlier in the morning, when he’d been trying to get Harold to give him his coat. “…I’d like that.”

His voice broke slightly on the last word. Today had certainly been an ordeal for him. Harold felt bad about that. He’d done what he could to make it easier, but withdrawal was never easy. It would be good for him, though. It would be the first step to him regaining his powers, regaining the life he deserved.

Klaus was muttering to Ben again, under his breath so Harold couldn’t really tell what he was saying. He ignored it mostly, and started the bath tub running warm water. Then he shut and locked the bathroom door. Klaus having to unlock the door would give him more time if this went south on him.

“Okay,” he said. “Now, I don’t want this to be too difficult, Klaus. Can we just do this the easy way?”

“What’s the easy way?”

“I’ll cut you free. You take off your shirt and pants, and put them by the side of the tub. Then I’ll hand you the tape, and you can tape your own ankles. I’ll tape your wrists, and you can get in the tub.”

“You have no trust in me,” Klaus said mournfully. “I can’t even take a bath without it being a whole process. You think I’m just going to run out of this house completely naked?”

Harold laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Shut up, Ben, that was two years ago,” Klaus snapped.

Harold glanced in the direction Klaus had been looking—nothing but empty air there—and shrugged. What were you going to do?

But back to business. “I still have a knife,” Harold said. “And you still don’t, so… it would be good to do this the easy way, instead of having to fight. Again.”

Klaus was still looking at the empty air. Then he let out a brief, empty laugh and looked back at Harold. “Sure. Why not. I’m an easygoing person. I never try to make things… hard.”

Harold flushed.

The bath tub was maybe a third of the way full. He took out his knife and cut Klaus’s ankles free first, then his wrists. Then backed up to the door, plucking the roll of duct tape off the counter as he went. He could hold the door pretty easily, he thought.

Klaus really didn’t seem to be in the mood for fighting, though. He shucked his shirt and pants to the floor, not bothering to fold them or put them where Harold had directed. When Harold lightly tossed him the roll of tape, he hesitated for only a moment—then Harold said his name, and he crouched and began winding the tape around his ankles.

Harold was just as happy not to have to manhandle him, but the sudden apathy didn’t make him exactly comfortable either. Another symptom of the withdrawal, most likely. He… he wanted Klaus to be in this with him, he wanted them to be seeking out Klaus’s powers together. He didn’t want Klaus to drop into despair.

Klaus’s eyes hovered over Harold’s shoulder as Harold taped up his wrists. “Ben?” Harold asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Klaus said quietly.

Harold would, in fact, have loved to be able to see the dead. But no need to start any banter. He shrugged, and helped Klaus get into the tub, not an easy task with taped ankles. The tub was about halfway full, and the water was fairly hot. Klaus didn’t seem to care much about the temperature, so Harold left it as is and perched on the side of the tub.

The way tension eased out of Klaus’s body was visible. He slumped against the back of the tub, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Sure, there were still some knots of tension in his arms that Harold could see, and the size of the tub meant that his legs were bent at an awkward angle, but mostly he seemed relaxed. His body was only half-visible under the water, refracted and blurred, but Harold still studied it. He’d seen it enough by now to get used to it, but it still fascinated him, pale skin and skinny limbs like a skeleton. There were a couple new bruises forming—Harold winced apologetically. Those were technically his fault. Oh well, couldn’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs.

Klaus began to slump a little further. Harold frowned. At that rate… and then his whole head was under water.

Shit.

Harold darted forward and hauled his head out, grabbing it by the cheeks. “Klaus? Klaus?”

Klaus was gagging. He spit out water and then said, “I was fine! Until you grabbed me. Oh my God, I think it went up my nose…”

Harold folded his arms. “You could drown that way. Especially with your hands tied, you could have trouble getting out again.”

Klaus only spit out more water and shook his head, whipping a couple water droplets off his plastered hair. “Believe it or not, I do know how to take a bath.”

“In that case,” Harold said, “Maybe you should actually start washing yourself. Actually, no, I’d better.”

Klaus curled up into a ball. “…no. I’ll just… soak…”

“Believe it or not,” Harold said, “the main point of a bath is to get clean.”

“For losers, maybe,” Klaus muttered. Harold had the impression that he wasn’t supposed to have heard him, so he ignored the comment, just like he ignored nearly all the comments Klaus made when he stared off at random corners of the room.

 _Extra Ordinary_ had mentioned, anecdotally, that Klaus was a bathroom hog, especially in the evening. He liked his baths and showers. Harold kind of wished he’d let Klaus take one sooner but hey, one man couldn’t think of everything.

He got a large, thick washcloth—Klaus didn’t seem to be comfortable with this, so no need to make it any more personal than necessary. Even though there was no real way to avoid it. He took off his own shirt to avoid it getting wet and gestured for Klaus to give him his back. It was probably only newfound apathy that made Klaus comply.

It seemed most systematic to start at the top, so he started by washing Klaus’s neck. This made Klaus’s eyes twitch, and he flinched away a little, but Harold was done quickly. He moved on to Klaus’s arms, where he was equally quick and professional, though he couldn’t help but examine them a little, having the opportunity and excuse. He really needed to give Klaus some cream for his wrists; even with the tape still on them now, wet but still holding, he could see the chafing.

Then Klaus’s chest. He tried to be quick here, too. It was too intimate an area. Touching it, even through a washcloth, made him think of how he’d touched Klaus only a couple days ago, when they were still on good terms. Of that moment when Klaus—blearily high but touchingly sincere—had held Harold’s hand to his chest, like they were real lovers. No chance of that today. Klaus still wasn’t even looking at him, even though they were this close to each other. His lips moved absently, noiselessly. Harold wondered if Ben could tell what he was trying to say; Harold certainly couldn’t.

He skipped certain private areas—he didn’t want to deal with Klaus’s possible reaction if the apathy left him for a moment—and went on to the legs. This was awkward. Not only were the legs underwater and at a difficult angle, but they were taped together. Also, apparently Klaus’s one ticklish spot was his feet. Eventually Harold had to admit defeat; the legs were as clean as they were going to get.

He told Klaus to turn around, and he scrubbed his back. Here, he couldn’t help but go slow. There was nothing overly personal, he thought, about touching someone’s back—it was more or less one straight plane, with a few dips and curves. Klaus’s was full of knots of tension that the bath hadn’t managed to drain away, and he poked at them a little, half-massaging. He couldn’t tell how Klaus felt about it. He was sitting very still, and his face was turned away.

When he was done he dried himself off with a towel—he’d gotten a little wet—put his shirt back on, and told Klaus he could relax for a while longer if he wanted. Though, he noted, the tub had soap in it now.

“Have any bubble bath?” Klaus asked him.

“No, sorry.”

“Typical.”

Silence. Klaus had curled back up into a ball. Harold, having controlled himself so well thus far, felt no compunction about staring at him. It was prudent, anyways. Klaus bore watching.

* * *

They were just finishing dinner—though Klaus barely ate anything and threw up halfway through—when Harold received a text. It was from Vanya.

He glanced worriedly at Klaus. Urgent family meetings… of course, they should have discussed Klaus’s disappearance the day he disappeared, not now, the second day, but sometimes it took people a while to figure things out. Either way, if that was what it was about, if the Umbrella Academy was getting together to seek Klaus out, things could get worrisome. He didn’t think he’d left any obvious trail to himself, but he was hardly a professional kidnapper. What did he know about these things?

He opened the text.

_“Hey. Do you mind if I come see you?”_

Klaus was broodily sipping water from a glass held with both hands, paying exactly zero attention. Harold said, “Your sister wants to pay a visit.”

Klaus looked up. “Liar.”

“She texted me. Says she wants to come by.” Harold put the phone down on the table. “Huh.”

Klaus cocked his head to the air. “Yeah, but there’s no way it’s this bad.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Vanya really wants to visit?”

“I guess we’re really connecting. That or something’s bothering her and she needs help.” Harold frowned. “God. This is such shit timing. I mean, obviously I can’t tell her not to come but…”

“But you have her brother tied up in the closet,” Klaus finished with a giggle. He banged his hands absently against the table. “Well, these things happen in every relationship! Don’t worry, Vanya doesn’t give a shit about me. Just put me in a vase, I’m great decoration…”

“I can’t tell her not to come,” Harold repeated. “Damn it.” He stared at Klaus. “…this is so inconvenient. I really should have waited a while longer. But… I guess she likes me.” He felt the corners of his mouth crinkling up.

“True love,” Klaus drawled. “I’m sure she’ll love hearing about your stalking.”

“I haven’t stalked Vanya,” Harold said. He texted Vanya his address, and stood. “Finish your water. You’ll need to stay upstairs.”

Klaus laughed. Then he launched off his chair straight into another wrestling match. It didn’t seem to bother him that his hands and feet were still taped, or that after a day of little but water to his diet he was weak as a kitten. Which was perhaps apropos—he could barely fight Harold at all, but as Harold dragged him up the stairs he did get in one good bite to Harold’s shoulder. Harold thought he might even have broken skin—he’d have to check it out later.

He tied Klaus to the bed. The hour was late enough that it seemed better. Then he paused.

Vanya would be right downstairs, and Klaus, no matter how apathetic he’d been this afternoon, would definitely try to get her attention. He couldn’t have Klaus yelling. No, he couldn’t have that.

“Is your stomach settled?” he asked Klaus.

“There’s this thing called withdrawal,” Klaus told him, “it happens when a person has been using drugs for a while, of the addictive variety…”

Harold sighed. “Well if you’re going to vomit, do it now.”

He fetched a bowl. Klaus said something about being unable to vomit on demand. Harold pressed a hand down on his stomach, and he did throw up. Just a little bit.

“Sorry,” Harold said. “Here, I’ll get you some water.”

He did. Then, when Klaus had drank, he found a clean handkerchief and stuffed it in his mouth. Then put a piece of tape over it.

For a gag, it would probably be good enough.

Klaus would probably have looked good in a gag, if he weren’t glaring at Harold and the smell of the room weren’t killing the mood. Harold pressed an apologetic kiss to his forehead and headed downstairs so he’d be there when Vanya knocked.

Vanya showed up shortly. She had blood on her forehead but still an apologetic look on her face. She had no way of knowing the visit was really inconvenient, though, and Harold had no intention of letting her figure that out. He offered her the remainders of dinner; she said she’d already eaten.

Apparently the blood on her forehead was because the Academy had been attacked by unknown assailants. She’d come out mostly okay, but there had been some kind of argument about her being useless, and she felt it held a kernel of truth. Hence her presence in Harold’s house; she already could sense that he thought she was special, and she wanted him to say it, although she wouldn’t ask.

He obliged. “Well, just because you can’t beat up some kind of supervillain doesn’t mean you’re not special. We all have different talents. I think you’re pretty extraordinary.”

It came out lukewarm because he was tired. She still blushed.

“Hey,” he asked, “do you mind if I ask something personal?”

“That depends on how personal.”

“What was that family meeting about?”

“That? Oh, just some…” Vanya swiped a strand of hair back. “…some family drama. Our, uh. Our mom is a robot, and apparently she’s been malfunctioning. Luther wants to turn her off.” She shrugged. “…family.”

Well, that was certainly something. “Sounds like a hell of a day.”

“You could say that.”

“Do you want a hug?”

She tilted her head. “You could say that too.”

She squeezed Harold slightly. He expected her to melt into him, the damsel in distress, but she was mostly still, contemplative, and after a moment she pushed him away, though the look in her eyes was still fond.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh… whole family turn out for this meeting?”

“We’re not very whole anymore, if we ever were.” Vanya sat down on his couch. “One of my brothers is dead. One’s… recently returned, but he can’t seem to stay still, and he didn’t show up. And one was missing entirely, but he is a lot of the time. We’re not very organized.”

“Sounds, uh…”

“It’s okay,” Vanya said. “At least that means we couldn’t settle anything. Luther wanted to vote on it and he can’t do that without Klaus and Five.”

It was the first time he’d heard her speak Klaus’s name. But… Five? Wasn’t Five supposed to be missing?

He had a million questions. But Leonard Peabody wasn’t supposed to know much about the Umbrella Academy. Shit. Maybe he could ask Klaus about it later? He seemed to have reached the limits of interrogation with Vanya for the night.

When they were done talking, he told her she could take the couch. Hopefully it wouldn’t seem too ungentlemanly. But the bedroom was taken, and had been for days—he’d been sleeping on the couch himself, to allow Klaus privacy, but tonight they’d have to share.

He headed upstairs, where he found Klaus wide-eyed, tensely awake. “Your sister’s staying the night,” he said quietly, having shut the door. “Apparently…” Should he tell Klaus about the attack? Might only upset him, being away from his family at a time when they might be in need of him. Even though, judging from what Vanya had said, they had barely even noticed his absence as unusual. “…your family was fighting again, and she got upset. But she’ll be fine.”

High-pitched, muffled noises emanated from Klaus’s mouth. Harold patted his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share the bed tonight, big guy. I can’t exactly share the couch with Vanya. You’ll be good, right?”

More angry keening—thank God for the gag, or Vanya would probably be up here inquiring just from the noise of the last two minutes—and when Harold climbed into bed next to him, he kicked out and bucked at Harold until Harold irritably climbed off.

“You’re kind of an asshole, you know? Fine. I’ll take the floor.”

Really, playing host to two Hargreeves was inconvenient in so many ways.

* * *

Downstairs, Vanya convinced herself that the noises she was hearing were her imagination, or maybe the wind. The nights had not been very still lately.

Some miles away, a pair of Temporal Assassins were bemoaning their luck at having raided a house of supposed civilians and come away with nothing but bruises.

And in the Hargreeves mansion, Allison knocked on Luther’s door. He didn’t answer, too ashamed of his appearance. She sighed and went to her own room. Diego was gone, and so was Vanya, and she wouldn’t trust something like this to Pogo. But she had to tell someone what she’d heard. The female assassin, the one with a rabbit mask on—she’d told Allison her motivation, clear as day in the thick of night.

_“We only want the Boy and Klaus Hargreeves.”_

Allison kind of wished she’d asked for details instead of just kicking the woman in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure what to say in these notes so my roommate says:  
> Pls pray for her. She is completely fine but has allergies to tree pollen. Pity her soul.  
> (to clarify, my roommate is the one with allergies, but I am paraphrasing her. see y'all next chapter.)


	6. Chapter 6

Harold woke to the sound of thrashing. Klaus in the throes of withdrawal, of course. It wasn’t yet light out. Seemed the guy couldn’t get any good sleep. Didn’t look like he needed to vomit, at least; that was good. Harold squeezed his shoulders and rubbed his back until he eventually quieted down. If Vanya had heard any of this, Harold would tell her he sometimes had nightmares. That was no lie, though they had been more common in the first year after he got out of prison.

He lay back down on the floor and slept for another couple hours before waking again. Klaus was awake too, but he was quiet if fidgety. His eyes were fixed on the closed door to the room. Harold thought for a moment that Ben might be there, or some other ghost. But the stare was too still, so fixed that when he blinked his eyes barely refocused.

Perhaps he was not even as awake as Harold had first thought.

Harold didn’t bother him. Instead, he got dressed and went downstairs. It looked like Vanya was dead asleep. Quietly, he sorted through her purse until he found an orange pill bottle. He washed its contents down the sink, replaced the empty bottle in the purse, and started making some coffee and toast, a basic breakfast.

She’d have rehearsal soon. He knew her schedule.

She woke up just as he was finishing, and crammed down some of the toast and coffee. Then she took out her pills—most people did take them while eating—and frowned.

“…my refill’s at home.”

Fuck. She had extras? No, no, no… Although he’d been willing enough to let this part of his master plan wait, having done part of the work already, he wanted her off the pills as soon as possible. “I’m sure you’ll be fine for one day,” he said. How would he get a hold of those extra pills? He didn’t know how to pick a lock, even after twelve years in prison. Her keys hadn’t been in her purse—maybe in her pocket? If he could only distract her enough…

“I’ve got to go. Rehearsal’s starting soon.”

Fuck. “I’ll walk you there.”

“Is it on your way?”

“Not at all.”

She smiled at that. Vanya was easy in some ways—some girls were scared off by blatant signs of affection, but she soaked them in. They had still only known each other for three days.

“Just a second. I have to, uh, get some stuff.”

He ran upstairs to check on Klaus before heading out. Klaus wasn’t spaced out anymore. He was half sitting up in bed and glaring at the door even before Harold came through it. Muffled noises came through the gag. Harold could make some guesses: Asking for water? Demanding to see Vanya? General expressions of anger? Fuck it, he couldn’t take the gag out without Klaus yelling, most likely, and Vanya would definitely hear. It was basically a miracle nothing had gone that wrong already.

And leaving Klaus alone for this long—well, alone with Ben, but still—ideally he ought to set him up in the bathroom like the day before, but there was no way Vanya wouldn’t notice him dragging her brother across the hall. Shit. Oh well.

“I’m going to be out for a while,” he told Klaus. “Have to walk Vanya to rehearsal and get her pills from her. We’ll talk when I get back. And, uh. Take care of things.” He shrugged. “Well, see you later.”

Klaus’s protests slightly gained volume, but not so much that Vanya would probably hear them. Harold grabbed a few things and headed down.

He could have driven Vanya to rehearsal—it was kind of a walk and he did have a car. But the longer the walk took, the longer he could spend with her. And she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry for keeping you up, and for just busting in on you like that…”

It really had been inconvenient. But she was kind of pitiful. “Hey, let’s make a deal, okay? Around me you don’t have to apologize just for existing.”

“Sorry. It’s force of habit.”

“I get it. I, uh…” He shrugged. “My father never really forgave me for being born.”

“What about your mom?”

“She wasn’t really in the picture.”

Vanya was so easy to talk to. He’d never have been able to even broach these sorts of subjects with Klaus. Then again, with all their fighting, he hadn’t really tried either. Maybe he should. Maybe if they knew each other a little better, they really wouldn’t fight so much.

He grabbed the keys from Vanya when he hugged her goodbye—he’d spotted them in her pants pocket, and they were slightly hanging out. She hesitated a little as they pulled away from each other, looking like she might want him to kiss her. But he stepped away, and watched her walk off to rehearsal.

Part of it was inertia: easier not to kiss than to kiss. But part of it was that he’d just been thinking of Klaus. Klaus hadn’t waited for Harold to kiss him, hadn’t even asked if he wanted to. He’d just grabbed Harold and gone for it, no questions asked. He’d wanted Harold without hesitation.

Harold wouldn’t lie, he really wanted that back. And when he thought about that night…

He liked Vanya. He really did. He’d liked Vanya ever since reading her book. And she clearly liked him. He could easily become her boyfriend, he thought—his plan already was based around getting them closer. But it wouldn’t be fair to Vanya to pursue her with Klaus on his mind. And it wouldn’t be fair to Klaus, either. Even if Klaus wasn’t exactly happy with Harold right now…

Well, if he couldn’t sort things out with Klaus, he could always get together with Vanya. Or was it fair to think of her that way? He pondered this as he flagged a taxi to take him to Vanya’s apartment. It was too far for walking.

He’d decided, by the time he’d headed up to Vanya’s apartment, that the romantic element wasn’t what really mattered right now. Yeah, he was into Vanya and Klaus both, but more importantly, he was trying to help them. Considering that, it would even be acceptable for him to kiss Vanya if the opportunity presented itself again. Everything he was doing was for her and Klaus’s benefit. The ends justified the means.

It took him a minute to figure out what key to use to get into the apartment, but one finally clicked. Not her medicine cabinet, he’d already looked there the other day. So where would she keep her refill bottle? Humming the tune Vanya had been trying to teach him the other day, he looked through her refrigerator, then through her kitchen cabinet, where he found the bottle at last in the butter container. What a funny place to keep it, but clever—he almost hadn’t found it. Mentally congratulating Vanya, he stuffed it in his coat pocket.

He was just heading out when someone swept his feet and hit him, hard. Adrenalin flashed through his body. He barely caught himself on the floor, was ready to fight—then looked up and recognized his attacker. Shit, shit. “Allison, it’s me!”

Allison folded her arms. “Leonard. What are you doing here?”

A woman still not convinced she’d made a mistake. “Vanya forgot her keys at my place, I was just returning them.”

“Then why are you inside?”

“I needed to use the bathroom, Jesus.” He got to his feet. “…actually, what are you doing here?”

“I’m her sister.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get the impression that you two were exactly…” He trailed off. Allison was still looking at him so self-righteously. Screw her. He was closer to Vanya than she was, and he’d only needed three days. Why should he have to stand here making excuses?

“Well, if you’re giving back the keys, just give them to me. I’m going to see her anyways.”

Reluctantly, he handed them over. What bad luck. He’d been planning on keeping them as long as possible, but as soon as Allison realized he had them, it was game over. Now she’d be telling stories to Vanya.

The only thing for it was to make it look like he’d intended for Vanya to know about his visit all along. He made sure to follow Allison out so he could see that she didn’t lock the door, and lo and behold, she did forget to lock the door. Great. He ran down to the nearest convenience store and bought a bouquet of flowers, and rushed it back up to Vanya’s apartment.

He left the flowers in her bedroom. It was a quiet bedroom, comforter charcoal gray and blue rug, as unassuming as Vanya herself. The flowers looked a little out of place; he wondered if their bright colors would offend her. But he didn’t think so. Vanya, in the end, loved any sort of compliment or attention. Even if she didn’t like the flowers, she’d love the fact that he’d bought them for her.

Harold wondered if he should buy flowers for Klaus. Klaus, now… there was a man who liked flashy things. Even if he wore a lot of black. Might as well give it a try. He purchased a bouquet of red roses—too dramatic for Vanya but about right for Klaus—and headed home.

He was already running late, and when he got back, Klaus’s sweat had soaked all the blankets. He’d have to change all the sheets again. He untied and un-gagged Klaus, who this time was too exhausted to fight him as he hobbled off to the bathroom.

 Harold gave him some water and made some quick broth, which he brought up to the bathroom. Klaus was staring behind his back again. “Is Ben giving me bunny ears?” he asked with a chuckle.

Klaus shook his head. “There’s a man who follows you around,” he said. “He looks a lot like you, except for the part where he’s dead.” His own laugh came out breathy. “Did you kill your brother, Harold? Or is he your father? I can’t make sense of what he’s saying yet, but I can sure tell he hates you.”

Harold looked behind his back. The air was empty as always. Or as never. His spine prickled, as it sometimes did even when he was alone. “…don’t suppose you know how to get rid of him.”

“Harold, Harold, Harold. If I could get rid of them, I would have done it a long, long time ago. Do you think I like hearing every asshole with a hole in his head tell me about his righteous quest for vengeance? Or seeing fucking blood on the ground everywhere?” Klaus’s hands were shaking. His wrists were taped to the chair as yesterday, but the support of the chair’s arms didn’t stop the tremors. “Harold, you said you were going to, going to get Vanya’s pills.”

“Hey,” Harold said. “Hey. Focus on me. My father can’t hurt you.” He met Klaus’s eyes squarely. “I killed him and he’s dead. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

* * *

It wouldn’t have been Harold’s first choice for his first real personal conversation with Klaus—about himself, anyhow—but needs must as the devil drove. He told Klaus about it while he sat on the edge of the tub and Klaus listened and sweated.

“My father was a real bastard in life. He hit me sometimes. Worse, he told me I was worthless. I would never amount to anything. I think that’s one reason I always liked the Umbrella Academy so much. I thought you guys were so incredible. I wanted to be like you.”

“Trust me,” Klaus said, “it wasn’t all it was advertised to be.”

“One day I tried to talk to you all. I’d convinced myself I had powers too. I have the same birthday as you guys, you know… just a normal mother. But who even knows, right? My dad says she was normal, but I wasn’t really old enough to check on that for myself. I tried to talk to you guys, but the old man kicked me out at the gate.”

Klaus snorted. “Reginald hated children.”

“I was upset. So I went home. My old man was hassling me like usual. He shoved me when I took too long to get his beer. So…” He shrugged. “I picked up a hammer and I hit him until I knew he wouldn’t get up again. Kinda took me a while to feel confident about that.”

And now, as it turned out, his father had actually been following him around ever since. Watching him spend twelve long years in prison, watching him get hurt over and over again, probably laughing about it, thinking it served him right. Harold swallowed. So? His father was a ghost and he was alive, and he’d turned his life around. He still had the upper hand there.

“Yeah,” Klaus said, “you really smashed his skull. Not very pretty.” He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. You should have seen the kinds of ghosts Ben would bring home, before Ben became a ghost himself.”

“So I guess me and Ben have something in common.”

“…I wouldn’t go that far.”

“A birthday and some ugly ghosts.”

“I’m regretting encouraging you already.”

“And,” Harold said, “we both really like you and care about you. So there’s that, too.”

Klaus’s eyes flickered. “If you could see Ben right now, he’s looking disgusted. And for the record, caring about me is not… why do I bother.” He sighed. “I’d like some more water, please.”

Harold changed the subject. “So your sister mentioned Five being back. Not to get personal, but… wasn’t he missing and assumed dead?”

He thought Klaus might clam up, but Klaus said, “He was, but then he showed up with a huge fucking portal like… two days ago. So I guess he was fucking fine the whole time.”

“Wow! That’s amazing.”

“Would be amazing, if I could actually, you know, see him, instead of being locked up in your basement.”

“This isn’t the basement.”

“Same difference.”

“Why do all our conversations come back to this?”

“I don’t know, Harold. You tell me.”

There was a need for another subject change. “Five, though… That’s great that he’s back. I remember as a kid I really admired him. He was kind of my first gay crush.”

“Wow, that’s amazing information. It’s great to know just how many members of my family you’ve perved on.”

Maybe it wasn’t politic to bring up his crushes on other people. Harold cleared his throat. “Just a second. I got something for you while I was out.”

He brought up the roses and put them in Klaus’s lap. Klaus stared at them blankly. “…okay.”

The apathy, Harold reminded himself, was mostly due to the withdrawal. Besides, Klaus was tired. “I’ll get them some water, put them in our room.”

“ _Your_ room.”

Harold shrugged. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. This chapter and the next chapter are relatively short, compared to most of my chapters. But around chapter eight I might be heading into some actual plot so I'm just getting things in order before that happens.  
> Next chapter: Harold continues to hate on Allison. I genuinely think those two are natural enemies. Not just because Allison is protective of Vanya. I think he'd hate her in isolation, too, because from the outside she has the most successful life due to her powers, and while Harold says he wants Vanya (and in this fic Klaus) to be extraordinary, I think ppl who are successful before he gets to them make him feel kind of... angry. Insecure.  
> I think before meeting Allison in person, he kind of admired her and resented her at the same time, and tried to hide his resentment from himself. But then he met her and it became all hatred all the time.  
> Anyways. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! My roommate's allergies have slightly improved lols so she says thank you for the thoughts and prayers.


	7. Chapter 7

Klaus listened to Harold complain about Allison’s paranoia ad infinitem. It was at least distracting enough to keep his attention away from the bloody specter gaining more and more coherence over Harold’s shoulder. Still, he did break in several times to mention that Allison’s paranoia was justified—Harold was actually stalking Vanya, had stolen her meds, and was in fact a kidnapper as well—but Harold mostly gave him a scandalized expression as if he couldn’t believe Klaus was actually taking his sister’s side against a violent and obsessive stranger.

“Honestly, kudos to her for getting those keys from you,” Klaus said. “Allison is really on top of things.”

“Yeah,” Ben remarked, leaning over Klaus’s shoulder, “Allison really does have things together.”

Harold pursed his lips and went in for the kill. “Honestly, she’s this worried about Vanya just because Vanya has a new friend, but not a single person in your family is worried about you.”

Klaus winced. But he had a quick recovery. “Don’t be mean to Ben,” he admonished. “You can’t see him, but he’s… he's crying right now.”

In fact, Ben was nowhere near crying, but he looked worried. He put a hand on Klaus’s arm. It was probably Klaus’s imagination that the hand had the slightest weight. “I’m sure the others are worried about you, Klaus. “

And yet, for the whole time Klaus had been here, Ben had never tried to reassure Klaus that he would get rescued. That they would get out of this, sure, not that the others would come for him.

They had never come for him before. Why would they start now?

He didn’t care if they didn’t worry about him.

“You’ve been missing for three days now,” Harold said. “I mean, I’d be concerned by now, if you were my brother. Your family’s kind of shit.”

“Kind of makes one wonder why you bother with Vanya, compadre,” Klaus said. “…not that I’m dissing her, but you can’t diss my whole family and leave her out. Or me, for that matter. We only see each other at weddings and funerals—we’re not the kind of family that worries about each other. They don’t worry about me, I don’t worry about them either.”

“Yet you keep snapping at me about Vanya,” Harold countered.

“Great. I’m an angel for recognizing a skeeve when I see one,” Klaus muttered. Raising his voice, he said, “People worry about Vanya, you know. We always did. Because she’s, you know. The powerless one. I mean, and Allison worries about everyone, and she’s right about you, so.” He shrugged. “I’d get over it.”

“She literally hit me. She forced me to the floor.” Harold threw his hands up aggrievedly. “I will probably have bruises all over my back…”

“I’d feel worse about you getting assaulted if you didn’t assault me all the time.”

“You make me sound bad when you say it like that.”

“Maybe,” Klaus said, “because it is bad.”

Harold sighed again, a deeply frustrated sigh. “Whatever. You and Allison don’t trust me at all. Vanya is a nicer person than you. She actually understands me.”

He looked at Klaus as if he expected Klaus to argue against that. Pfft. Klaus had known all his life that Vanya was a nicer person than him—also more naïve but yes, much nicer. Sometimes when he was super high he found he could rival her generosity; he’d feel benevolent towards all the world, ready to give anything to anybody. But that wasn’t exactly the same as being nice, and he couldn’t keep it up consistently. Maybe that was another reason he liked being high; high Klaus was the person he aspired to become.

But here was Harold, looking at Klaus with that hurt look, waiting for Klaus to say… what?

Harold said, “After all I’ve done for you, I’d think you’d know me a little better.” He turned away.

Oh. Maybe that.

“I’ve known you for three days,” Klaus said. “In which time I’ve been kidnapped, forced into withdrawal, tied and gagged, and generally mistreated in every way.” He tilted his head. “Allison has good instincts.”

(Harold’s dad snorted in approval. “Damn right. Little freak.” Klaus ignored him.)

Harold scrubbed his face with his hand. When he took it away, he had broken into a nasty smile. It seemed out of place on his usually sincere face. “Yeah,” he said, “sure. If Allison’s all that, and I’m so terrible, why isn’t she here for you right now?”

“I already told you—”

“Has anyone in your family ever seen you through withdrawal, Klaus?” Harold asked.

Klaus didn’t answer.

“Has anybody in your family even seen you _in_ withdrawal, Klaus?” Harold asked. “It’s not pretty, you know. I’ve been putting up with it for two days.”

As if on cue, Klaus’s stomach turned. He vomited into the toilet.

Harold chuckled. “You’re a mess. None of them want you like this. They’d be just as happy for you to stay addicted to drugs all your life. If you got murdered in a back-alley, they wouldn’t care. They don’t know you aren’t dead in a back-alley right now.”

“Fuck you.”

Harold flushed the toilet. When he turned back to Klaus, his face was kind again. “Don’t worry. You don’t need them anyway. I mean, fuck Allison, right? Fuck all of them.” He wiped Klaus’s mouth off. “You have me.”

“You have me,” Ben said. “Don’t let him fuck with you. And they all care about you.”

Klaus muttered, “Shut up, Ben.”

Ben shut up. He sat morosely on the edge of the tub. When Harold, finished giving Klaus water, sat down next to him, he didn’t bother to get up.

Harold chattered on about how he would have to reopen the woodshop in a couple days but by then Klaus should be over the withdrawal enough to not need this much attention. It made Klaus feel sick to his stomach in a new way, hearing Harold talk like that. Like Klaus was here indefinitely, however long it took… for what? For Klaus to reform his life and become a dutiful citizen? Well, that would never happen. Klaus hadn’t really thought beyond withdrawal—it occurred to him that even if it ended, he still wasn’t sure what he could do to get out.

There was Vanya. She was a possibility. If Harold kept on getting close to her, she’d come over to the house again, right? But she hadn’t noticed anything wrong last night. He’d thrashed and yelled and made all the noise he could, unable to break free of the ropes Harold had left him in. He thought he’d made plenty of sound, but she hadn’t heard anything. Or if she’d heard anything, it hadn’t made any difference. She hadn’t come up, she hadn’t rescued him. Hell, for all the proof he had, she hadn’t been here last night at all. Harold could have lied about that just to mess with him. Klaus didn’t think he would do that, though. It didn’t seem like him to gag Klaus and leave him alone for all that time last night and this morning for no reason.

…fuck, that was no way to be thinking about his kidnapper.

“Really, though, it’s too bad Allison sucks,” Harold said, concluding his latest tangent. “You know, I used to be kind of into her.”

That made a total of four Hargreeves siblings Harold had perved on. If he said something about Ben, Klaus would definitely punch him.

“And I used to root for her to get good roles on TV and in the movies. I tried to forget how… Well, I never told you. That day I tried to talk to you guys, she was the one who spoke to me. Her and Luther. They both told me to go away. But I tried to forget that. Now she’s telling me to go away again. But I won’t.” He laughed. “I guess I’ve gotten a little stubborn, over the years. I’m not going away.”

Klaus was getting tired of this argument. Allison was, he thought, as good as any of them were. She’d always been nice to him as a kid, and she hadn’t even snapped at him the other day for rooting around Dad’s office. She’d always been like that. But he barely knew her anymore. He was tired of defending her.

Instead, he said, “I don’t remember that day, you know.”

“Guess it didn’t really matter to you guys. You probably got crazy fans all the time.”

Crazy was right. But Klaus snorted. “I was probably high anyways.”

“Even back then?”

“I started young, babe. I was a real bad boy.”

Harold chuckled fondly. “Yeah, I guess you must have been.”

There might have been a sad note to his voice. Klaus couldn’t tell.

* * *

The day passed wearily on. Klaus’s body was tired of shaking and sweating, tired of the ups and downs. His stomach was tired of ejecting its contents; his throat was tired of burning. He’d been through withdrawal in rehab enough to know how this went. Tomorrow would be a better day. He wouldn’t be well, but he’d be better. Maybe he’d be able to hold down some food. He could stop wasting Harold’s broth. Not that he felt guilty about that—but he always did feel a little bad about wasting good food. On the streets, he ate whatever food he could find.

It had been four days since he last had to worry about finding something to eat. The first day, of course, at home. At home the pantry was full even though the master of the house was gone. Klaus blissfully thought about Mom’s fried eggs. Always sunny side up with a piece of bacon to complete the face. Maybe she wouldn’t do that anymore if he asked her for some; they were adults now, after all. He thought he’d like it, though. Eggs were almost as good as waffles. On an upset stomach, better—though waffles were richer, better on the taste buds, better texture in the mouth. He could eat so many waffles in a row when he was high. There had been a guy once who offered to buy him as many waffles as he could eat one night. Man, that guy had not known what he was getting into.

 The day passed wearily on. When Harold wasn’t talking to Klaus, he was rereading the diary about Vanya and taking his own notes, occasionally making comments. Around dinnertime, he got a phone call. He took it a couple rooms away from Klaus. Klaus hollered—help, help, I’ve been kidnapped, call 911—but he couldn’t bring himself to scream with any real panic. His voice came out quieter than he intended.

Would Vanya recognize his voice if it was muffled? Would she even recognize his voice over the phone these days? It had been so long… at their latest reunion, it had felt like they barely knew each other…

Harold’s father stayed in the room even though Harold had left. He said, “You really want to get free of my kid? Kill him.”

“Shut up.”

“Little bastard. I should have killed him myself.”

“Shut up. Shut up! You’re not being helpful.”

“He’ll kill you if you don’t kill him first.”

“ _I’ll_ kill _you_ ,” Klaus hissed, “if you don’t shut up.”

Snorting at the impossibility of the threat, Harold’s father exited the room. He was gone for the rest of the night. Klaus knew he would be back though. Ghosts this fixated never left for good.

The evening passed wearily on. Harold returned and said it had been a call from Vanya, but don’t worry, he’d told her the noise was coming from the TV.

“She got the flowers I left her,” he said, “and she basically told Allison to go to hell.”

He was grinning.

“ _Vanya_.” Klaus sighed. She should have known better; Allison always had more sense than most of the family. But Harold was charming—Klaus had fallen for that smile himself, briefly, but long enough to get into his bed. What could Klaus expect?

“The flowers I got her aren’t really as nice as yours,” Harold said. “I kind of just grabbed the first ones I saw. I was in a hurry. And I thought roses might scare her off.”

If Vanya wasn’t scared off yet, Klaus didn’t think roses would do it.

“Besides, we’re not… I’m not sure Vanya and I are exactly romantic. We’re more like friends.”

He looked at Klaus hopefully.

Klaus said, “I’m not a florist. Personally I think you shouldn’t have left her flowers because you shouldn’t have broken into her house.”

Harold shook his head.

By bedtime he had arranged the roses in a vase in the bedroom as promised. He left after arranging Klaus similarly on the bed—he was back to sleeping on the couch, apparently. Klaus hoped the back pains would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The roses did bother Klaus a little. They bothered him because when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember anyone having bought him roses before. Of course, he didn’t need to be babied with pretty little romantic gestures. But it was kind of fucked up, right? For Harold to be his first… what would you call it… rose-giver…

They smelled nice. The room needed it, too. Harold had changed the sheets again but the bed still smelled sick, and so did Klaus. There was no helping it.

“I’m tired,” he said to Ben.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Me too.”

He was lying next to Klaus on the bed, and he rolled over and gave Klaus a hug. The only weird thing about that was that Klaus actually felt it.

“Ben,” he said.

Ben’s eyes were wide.

“Ben. Ben!”

Ben carefully squeezed a little tighter. “Oh my god, I can feel your ribs.”

“Oh my god,” Klaus echoed, “I can feel your elbows. You’re—” He lowered his voice. “You’re materializing. How are you doing that?”

Ben stood up. He picked up a rose out of the vase and held it in front of him, deep in wonderment. “I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t think I’m doing anything. Klaus, I think it’s you.”

Klaus stared at him. He stared back.

“Well,” Klaus said, “well… in that case.” He fluttered his hands, tattoos urgent. “Get these ropes off me.”

Ben hurried over. But he could only grip the ropes for a second before his fingers went through as usual. He groaned. “Fuck. I can’t do it.”

“Ben!”

“I’m sorry, Klaus, I can’t.”

“Come on, Ben.”

“You’re the one who was making me material. Can’t you just… bring that back? Concentrate.”

Klaus concentrated. But it didn’t seem to do any good.

“It’s got to be because you’re sober,” Ben remarked.

“I’ve been sober before.”

“Maybe because you’re sober and the situation is serious?”

“So I just seriously needed a hug?”

Ben shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! This is great, though.”

“Not so great if I can’t get it to work when I need it to. Why can’t I just…” Klaus scrunched his eyes closed. “I just thought for a moment I’d actually be getting out of here.”

Ben lay down again next to him, weightless. “…look, Klaus. Maybe you couldn’t get me to get the ropes off because you didn’t really want to.”

“What?”

“I mean, this place isn’t so bad. And Harold’s helping you to get sober, and… well, what’s really out there for us? We might as well be here as anywhere else.”

Klaus closed his eyes again. When he opened them, his voice was calm. “Maybe you didn’t want to get the ropes off me, and that’s why it didn’t work. Because you’re an asshole.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you_.”

Klaus was angry, but he knew he should be angrier. And there was no real excitement in him over the new discovery, though he knew it, it meant something, didn’t it? Probably. He was tired.

Before long he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it goes.  
> I have my own opinion on why Klaus can't manifest Ben to untie the ropes but I'm going to try not to share it. He really is getting more sober, anyways. So... that's a thing.  
> Next chapter is Catching Up With The Hargreeves, and still relatively short. But I'm telling you, this fic is sort of developing an actual plot! Shocking.


	8. Chapter 8

Five wasn’t entirely confused that Luther had come and found him. Luther, Diego and Allison had always been huge meddlers, and he’d known it would be too much to hope for that he could go on fighting the apocalypse in peace. Not that it was doing him much good. Today he’d cornered a Meritech employee with a knife at last and found out about the eye, but the eye hadn’t even been manufactured yet. Whoever was going to be wearing that eye when disaster struck, it would be a very new fit.

In any case. Five was annoyed at Luther cornering him in the library—how had he even known Five was sleeping at the library?—and yelling at him about wandering off and hiding, but not confused. What confused him was that Luther was convinced Klaus must be somewhere in the library too.

“I’m not hiding Klaus anywhere.”

“Well, have you seen him? Diego’s out looking for him. I thought he’d probably be with you.”

“No, I haven’t seen him in days! Frankly, I wish I had—he could have been useful. But I haven’t.” Five crossed his arms. “What, has he not been back to the mansion at all?”

“He hasn’t. Do you seriously expect me to believe you have no idea where he is?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t you? I’m busy with other things, Luther, I don’t have time for…”

“Well maybe you can at least tell me why the thugs that attacked our house were looking for both him and you.”

Five blinked. “Thugs?”

“Yeah, two crazies in cartoon animal masks. A man and a woman. They attacked the house. They almost hurt Vanya.”

Hazel and Cha-cha. It had to be. “They said they were looking for Klaus?”

“And you. Why were they looking for the two of you?”

Five sat back down in his nook. He had a blanket and Delores here, and it was actually quite cozy. He patted the ground next to him, and Luther sat down too. “…I know why they were looking for me. But Klaus…”

“Did _you_ get _him_ involved in something?”

“Possibly. But more likely…” A smile tugged at Five’s lips. “For once in my life, something is working out for me. It’s the missing nail.”

“What?”

“It would take too long to explain it to you.”

“No, I think I want this explained.”

Five sighed. Then he thought about it.

He’d been keeping Luther, Diego, Allison, and Klaus out of his quest because he knew they couldn’t help anything. They were all dead in the future, no matter how hard they fought the threat. But… this past was not the past it had originally been. He was there, for one thing, and he could be the one to turn everything around. And now apparently there was some other change, or else Hazel and Cha-cha wouldn’t have an assignment aside from killing him or dragging his ass back to headquarters.

If the timeline was shifting, it was possible that his siblings might be more helpful than they had been last time around. And he wasn’t really getting anywhere on his own, anyway. He had the eyeball and the hospital it was going to, but that wasn’t the same thing as a name or a face.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll explain it. But I don’t want to do it more than once. Call a family meeting.”

That was a Luther sort of job, after all, bringing the family together. Five, after all his years away, didn’t even know anyone’s numbers, never mind where to find them.

Luther was mutinous. “Klaus is missing—we can’t get a hold of him.”

“Then everybody but Klaus. Do I need to state the obvious? Diego and Allison should be useful, at least.” He bit his lip. “…get Vanya, too.”

He didn’t want her trying to fight the apocalypse. A person without powers would die facing that kind of threat. But on the other hand, apparently all the rest of them died anyway, powers or no. And it wouldn’t take superpowers to find Klaus. It would take detective work, and frankly, none of them had ever been too good at that, no matter how Reginald tried to teach them. So the more of them were there to work on it, the better.

* * *

They couldn’t get the family together at night, so it had to be tomorrow. And Five drank a little more than he meant to, and ended up sleeping until noon. And they had to drag in Diego and Vanya, which took some doing. So the family meeting was delayed until the early afternoon.

But there they all were in the same room. Luther and Diego standing next to each other, though both with their arms crossed as if to deny any camaraderie. Allison sitting on a stool next to Five at the bar. And Vanya on the couch, curled up at the end of it. A couple days ago they had made a similar formation, but Klaus had been taking up the rest of the couch, which was now conspicuously empty.

“I have brought you here to discuss the apocalypse,” Five said.

Diego said, “I thought you brought us here to tell us why the fuck the house got attacked and what’s going on with you and Klaus.”

Luther shushed him.

“It’s related,” Five said. “But the most important thing you have to know is that the apocalypse is coming in…” He thought about it. “Four days.”

It was getting very close indeed. Already the time between his arrival here and the incumbent apocalypse had been halved.

“But,” he added, “on the bright side, it might not be coming at all.”

“I think we’d all appreciate some more details, Five,” Allison said.

Five poured himself some whiskey and began to deal out some facts. About the apocalyptic landscape he had come upon as a teenager, a real teenager, when he first ran away from home and from the timeline. About finding their dead bodies—everyone winced and he waved his hand—what did it matter, what did it matter, he was fixing it so all of that would no longer be relevant. It didn’t matter, except that they needed to know the stakes. About his years alone, which he only gave as a brief summary because even to him they all kind of blurred together.

And the Time Commission.

“So you killed people to preserve the timeline?”

“Yes. That was my job.”

“Bad people?”

Five took a swallow of the alcohol. It wasn’t the first question that had made him drink. It wasn’t just that their sense of morality was naïve and short-sighted, that they didn’t know all the shades of gray and necessity he’d needed to learn on the job, wasn’t just that the look in their eyes was like a knife in the gut. It was that it was a _waste of time_. He didn’t have time to reassure them; there was _real_ work to do.

“Sometimes.”

They all looked each other. Before they could ask anymore, he said, “Anyways, I deserted and ended up here, as you know. Now I’m the one Hazel and Cha-cha are after. They’re agents of the Time Commission, and they’re here to get rid of me and preserve the apocalypse.”

“Why would they want the apocalypse to happen?” Vanya asked.

“Because it’s meant to happen. That’s just how it is.” Five shrugged defensively. “Like the explosion of the Hindenburg or the assassination of John F. Kennedy—some things are just meant to be.”

“But that’s not…”

“But that’s why they’re after you,” Diego cut in. “Why would they be after Klaus?”

Five grinned and leaned forward. “I don’t know. But probably because for once in my life I got lucky.”

“Yeah, real lucky to have assassins targeting your…”

“That doesn’t answer anything. What do you mean?”

“The Time Commission targets people who are changing the timeline. In this case, they’re trying to preserve the apocalypse. But they aren’t just targeting me, they’re targeting Klaus. Which means something’s happened that will make Klaus be the key to stopping the apocalypse.”

“Klaus?” Luther glanced at Allison. Probably the glance meant something, but Five had never been able to understand their silent communications.

“Yes, Klaus. Don’t ask me why—I don’t know. But the Time Commission essentially replaces missing nails.”

“Nails?”

“You know. For want a nail, the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe, the horse was lost, for want of a horse, for want of a horse, the soldier was lost, for want of a soldier the battle was lost, for want of a battle the war was lost… Or think of it as the butterfly that flaps its wings and starts a hurricane in China. We replace the nail, we kill the butterfly. We make sure we rectify small changes to the timeline.”

“But…”

“Changes usually result from the exercise of free will. Don’t ask, it’s complicated. Also factors like time travelers, supernatural intervention—again, I won’t get into it. It’s most likely that either Klaus or someone Klaus is in contact with has made a pivotal decision. A decision that one way or another could have the effect of stopping the apocalypse. That’s why Hazel and Cha-cha want to kill him. And that’s why from now on, our quest will have to be protecting him at all costs.”

There was a brief silence as the information settled. Then the questions and protests all erupted at once.

“Oh so _that’s_ why we would want to protect our own brother from—”

“But what kind of—”

“Did you say supernatural intervention?”

“How are we going to protect him when we don’t know where he fucking is?”

The last question seemed the most relevant. Five said, “Our first order of business should be finding him. Diego, Luther said you were searching for him?”

“I asked around at a few bars, yeah.” Seeing the others looking at him, he added, “What? You know that’s where we all thought he was. And one guy did say he’d seen him—or a guy who looked like him anyways. Said he was with another dude, didn’t really give me a lot of details.”

Five sighed.

He wanted to say, _this is why you should have kept in touch with each other while I was gone, you’d have some kind of fucking idea where each other live_. But while Vanya’s book wasn’t too specific, he was pretty sure Klaus was actually homeless. And even though he wanted to believe that if he’d been around he could have held the family together better than this, he wasn’t sure. He’d read that book so many times. Ben’s death had really screwed everyone over, especially after his own disappearance. Then Allison leaving—that had been good, she’d been able to pursue her career—and Klaus’ drug habit, which he’d acquired when Five was still around…

No, he couldn’t be critical, but he could still be disappointed. The great Umbrella Academy. When he left, he’d still been young enough or stupid enough to believe the hype. Well, look at them now.

Luther cleared his throat. “Actually, I have an idea of somewhere you might look.”

“Care to share?” Diego said sarcastically.

“There’s a pawnshop in town he always used to visit when he, uh. Stole things. And we did see him taking some of Dad’s stuff.”

“Dad’s dead,” Vanya said, “it’s not really his stuff anymore.”

“I just think it’s possible he might have been there. And they might have some idea of where he went afterwards, other than the bar.”

They looked at each other. Diego shrugged. Allison said, “If you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

“Me too,” Diego said, and Five nodded in agreement.

Vanya said, “I, uh. Actually I have rehearsal this afternoon.”

Five looked at her.

“It’s kind of important. I’ve missed some lately.” Vanya looked at the ground. “You can let me know if you find out anything or if you need me. And I’ll tell you if Klaus gets in touch.”

Five wanted to tell her the apocalypse was coming—soon rehearsals and careers wouldn’t matter anymore. But it hurt to think of telling her to live the way he did, in desperation. Maybe they could stop this thing. And Vanya wasn’t really part of the team anyway—unfair to expect her to act like it.

He would miss her, of course. He felt more confident when she was on his side. But in the end, they didn’t really _need_ her.

“We’ll catch you up tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find Klaus and he’ll be fine.”

She held out his arms for a hug, and he awkwardly accepted. He hadn’t hugged anyone in years except for Delores.

* * *

The pawn shop owner did recognize the description of Klaus. Klaus had left a very nice box with him about four days ago, a box Five recognized, though vaguely, as one that used to sit in Dad’s office. Real pearls decorating it.

He told them the price he’d offered for it. Klaus had honestly been swindled. Then again, knowing him he might well have lifted something on the way out—besides which, since it wasn’t exactly his box to begin with…

“Do you have any idea where he was going?” Allison asked.

The pawnshop owner chuckled uneasily. He glanced up at Luther, who was looming intimidatingly, and then down at Five, who looked like an actual child. “Well, I can’t say for sure…”

“Did he mention any particular bars, for example?” Diego asked.

“No, but I would find it likely he was headed to one,” the pawnshop owner said.

“Nothing we didn’t already know then.”

“Of course, his companion seemed to be against the idea.”

Five looked at him sharply. “His companion?”

“Yes, he was here with another man.”

“Can you describe this man? Did you get a name?”

“No name, but I do have a memory for faces. He looked to be about the same age, maybe a little older. White guy, brown hair and eyes. Kind of…” The pawnshop owner gestured. “Well, average looking mostly. Actually he kind of reminded me of that guy from Hamilton.”

“What guy from Hamilton?”

“The lead?” Allison asked.

“Yeah, that guy.”

“Lin Manuel Miranda—I’ve met him, actually,” Allison said. Her brow crinkled.

“What are you thinking?” Five asked.

“Well… I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. I don’t mean to be paranoid. And he really doesn’t…”

“What,” Five enunciated, “are you thinking?”

“Just, I met a guy recently who kind of meets that description. Vanya’s new boyfriend.”

“Vanya has a boyfriend?” Diego said. Five was also shocked. Apparently he really had missed some things in the years since that book was published—Vanya had never so much as hinted at it.

“Yeah… I don’t know if he really looks like Lin Manuel Miranda though. It’s kind of subjective.” Allison bit her lip. “…he’s kind of suspicious though.”

“Vanya has a suspicious boyfriend? You kidding?”

“Do you have a picture?” Five asked.

“I didn’t exactly take a selfie with him. …here, I’ll google him, see if I can find something.”

After several minutes of searching, she managed to produce one photo of the guy, whose name was Leonard Peabody. Five had no idea who Lin Manuel Miranda was so he couldn’t see any similarity, but the pawnshop owner said, “That’s the guy, yeah. He seemed kind of nervous.”

“Well, that’s his personality.” Allison smiled a fake smile. “…outside, guys.”

On the street, she said, “It can’t be a coincidence that this guy was with Klaus the day he disappeared and now he’s hanging around Vanya.”

“Yeah, no way,” Diego agreed. “So. Do we go bust his door down?”

Allison bit her lip. “…frankly I’d love to, but. This seems like something we should talk to Vanya about first. I mean, he is her boyfriend.” She took out her cell phone. “I’m going to call her and tell her to come back to the house for dinner. Might be better to handle this carefully.”

“How could Vanya be involved?” Luther muttered.

“The plot thickens,” Five said. “But at least there’s a plot for us to work with.” He cracked his knuckles. Finally, after all these days, a chance for some action. He’d been starting to get so bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo  
> For the record, Hazel and Cha-cha are not going to be important characters in this fic! As far as I'm concerned, they're off fucking around on their own and I'm chill with that. But I figure the problem with writing a For Want of a Nail fic in a universe where there are time police policing the timeline is... they notice that shit. So there you have it. H and C tried their best but in the end, Hazel's still having a midlife crisis over donuts, so he's not super motivated about his job, and he's kind of dragging Cha-cha down. And all that.  
> Anyways.  
> It's been like two weeks since I last updated so I have some things to say:  
> 1\. sorry I'm really behind on answering comments. If you find me answering a comment from like...three weeks ago... it's just where I'm at ya know.  
> 2\. Y'all, I'm not the only Klaus/Harold fanfic out there anymore! There are 3 more fanfics tagged with the ship now. I haven't read them yet but I plan to as soon as I get a little more free time. One of them's sort of a Klaus-Vanya roleswap as far as I can tell (at least in relation to Harold) which sounds pretty interesting. So. If that's what you're here for.  
> 3\. Me and my roommate both think Harold looks kind of like Lin Manuel Miranda but if you disagree with me feel free to come fight me in the comments. (...gently.)  
> Next chapter: What was going on with Klaus and Harold while Five and Allison and everyone were investigating? Some stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there's any confusion, this chapter and the last one are simultaneous. So while all this is going on, the Hargreeves are having meetings and investigating and all that.

 

Despite having been invited, Harold didn’t get breakfast with Vanya.

This was a considerable sacrifice. Not only had Vanya mentioned that she wanted to get breakfast with him the night before, after discovering the flowers in her bedroom (which she appreciated more than Klaus appreciated his roses, at least), but she even texted him the next day, just asking him how he was doing and if he was having a good morning. He could easily have said, “Plans have changed, wanna get breakfast after all?” or tried to arrange for lunch. Instead, he just texted back saying he was doing fine and hoped she was too, and didn’t even really carry on the conversation.

This was because he was feeling a bit guilty about Klaus.

Although Klaus did seem to be doing better today than yesterday, and perhaps the worst throes of withdrawal had passed, he clearly was not exactly happy. The argument they’d had last night was evidence of that; in fact, coming out of withdrawal’s apathy had left Klaus in a truly foul mood, and Harold really did feel bad about that. It might be good, he thought, for Klaus to have some distractions. After all, he was something of a wild child and he’d been cooped up in this house for some days now. So Harold was going to stay home and keep him company, even if it meant passing up on breakfast with Vanya or lunch with Vanya or anything else with Vanya. Because honestly, he thought Klaus also seemed just a hint jealous. So it was about time Harold showed him that whatever Vanya meant to him, Klaus meant… well… more.

It was true, after all. Even if it was a little embarrassing; Vanya was the author of _Extra Ordinary_ , the woman of Harold’s dreams, and Klaus was not. But one cannot control the movements of the heart. Harold cared about Klaus very much, and he wanted Klaus to know that. So today, he decided, would be all about Klaus. He would put forth his very best effort.

So he made pancakes for breakfast, which he brought up to Klaus in bed along with a glass of orange juice. Klaus ate more than yesterday; again, probably a sign that the withdrawal was getting a bit better. He did also try to bite Harold’s fingers as Harold fed him (his hands still being tied to the headboard), but since Harold dodged without too much effort, he counted it as par for the course.

It was almost playful, and it made Harold smile. “I just thought I’d let you know,” he said, “that I’ve decided to spend today with you.”

“Well, I didn’t decide to spend today with you, yet here I am.” Klaus’s sarcasm was as ready as ever. But his voice was tired.

“Vanya asked me to come have breakfast with her, but I think I’ve been spending too much time with her and too little with you. So for today, I’m going to pretend Vanya doesn’t exist. How does that sound?”

Klaus yawned. “Kind of like how everyone else under the sun lives their life.” His eyes narrowed. “Kind of like Allison scared you off.”

Harold folded his arms. “You’re trying to make me angry.”

“It’s okay to be scared of Allison,” Klaus said. “She’s scary, really. You should see how many criminals she killed. Vanya’s book doesn’t do it justice—I know, I read it. She never really watched us up close.” He smiled, just a little wicked. “Allison’s going to fuck you up.”

“Vanya’s told Allison to back off, so I won’t be having any more trouble with her.”

“Vanya doesn’t tell Allison what to do. Allison tells other people what to do. That’s how it works, silly.”

Allison, Harold reminded himself, was unlikely to bother with causing Harold more trouble. Why would she? For all she talked about worrying about Vanya, she’d only started acting like a sister to her this week—her interest would die as quickly as it had grown. As for Klaus, no one was really looking for Klaus, Allison least of all.

When he looked at Klaus, and thought about Allison trying to take Klaus away like Vanya, his fists clenched automatically, and he felt his heart ratchet just a little. If she tried, he wouldn’t let her do it.

But she wouldn’t try.

He forced himself to relax. “Allison hasn’t told me to do anything. I’m spending today with you because I know the past couple days have been hard on you, and I care about you. Okay?”

Klaus shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Harold gave him a suspicious look. He batted his eyes back with innocent boredom; Harold sighed.

(But damn it, even when Klaus was being sarcastic, he still looked so pretty. Probably knew it too, probably did it on purpose. Damn it. Damn it.)

After Harold had washed the breakfast dishes, he came back up and perched on the side of the bed. “Well, you don’t seem to be in urgent need of medical attention, for once.”

“I still have a headache. Got an ibuprofen?”

Harold laughed. “How about we… I don’t know, let’s do something normal. We could watch a movie or something.”

“I don’t want to watch a movie with you.”

“Come on. I know you’ve been bored. You can’t be that mad at me.”

“I can be pretty goddamn mad at you.”

“You can choose the movie if you want. And we’ll go downstairs to watch it. If you’re pissed about staying in here for breakfast…”

Klaus snorted. His eyes darted off to the side, but he didn’t say anything.

Harold followed his line of vision, though he knew by now he wouldn’t see anything. To right behind Harold. He was still seeing Harold’s father, clearly enough, though he hadn’t brought it up again since yesterday afternoon. Probably wasn’t exactly fun. Harold wasn’t having fun himself, knowing his father was there watching him. He’d been trying his best to ignore that fact. It was Klaus’s misfortune that he couldn’t ignore it.

“Cassandra gazing at a thousand fallen Troys,” Vanya had written. “Klaus’s problem was fear.” Harold had read it, and he had believed it at the time. But Klaus’s gaze, drifting behind Harold’s back, was hardly that of a terrified child. It was hard to read—annoyance? Outright anger? A little disgust and horror? And certainly it was not happy—but nevertheless, Klaus remained aloof.

Harold had felt in his heart that Klaus could be strong enough to do without the drugs in his system. He was happy to be proven right. After all, he knew his father must make quite a specter (and it sent chills down his spine, but enough of that, he’d ignore it, _he_ couldn’t see his father after all) but Klaus was still as calm as ever. He could do this. They could do this together.

However, Klaus’s flickering gaze did bring something else to mind. Harold frowned. “You haven’t been talking much to Ben today.”

“Ben’s busy.” But the gaze flickered again, off to the other side of the bed. Liar, liar.

“What’s wrong? Is Ben upset about something?” Although Harold still hadn’t really interacted with his other, invisible house guest, he still liked to think they were friends. Had a common understanding, both cared about Klaus. He touched Klaus’s shoulder. “…is he hurt?” Was it possible for ghosts to be hurt?

“He’s busy,” Klaus said, refocusing his gaze on Harold’s face. “He went for a fucking stroll, okay? Jesus Christ, shut up! Why are you such a nosey asshole?”

Harold leaned back and let Klaus shout at him for a couple minutes, pondering what exactly could be going on. “…did you and Ben have a fight?”

“No, of course not, shut up.” But Klaus had winced.

“The two of you really should get along,” Harold said reprovingly. “You’re the only person he has in the world, Klaus. You should try to be nice.”

“Well that would be easier if he wasn’t a goddamn awful brother,” Klaus snapped.

“I’m sure that’s not true. What did you guys argue about?”

“None of your fucking business.”

And no matter how hard Harold tried, he couldn’t get more out of Klaus than that.

The idea of quietly watching a movie together seemed to have been thoroughly sunk. This was disappointing; Harold knew several of Klaus’s favorite movies and had been ready to give any of them a go, even though they were a bit juvenile for his tastes. He wracked his brains for something else which might put Klaus in a better mood.

The only thing he could come up with was a bath. It had seemed to make Klaus happy the last time he’d had one. He’d whined a little about Harold helping him, sure, but he’d also stayed curled up in the bath until the water was cold and filthy. He seemed to like being in water. Harold imagined it helped him ignore the spirits around him; if so, it might be useful to have a bath today, when he was beginning to see spirits again.

Klaus didn’t seem averse to the idea. His eyes flickered off to either side of Harold again when Harold brought it up, and then he said, “Yeah. A bath would be nice.”

To Harold’s mind a bath was hardly as stimulating as a movie. But today, he reminded himself, wasn’t about him.

(And the thought of being able to touch Klaus again without him cringing away, even for a little while, did have its allure.)

He brought Klaus to the bathroom with no complaints from Klaus. Yet. He did ask, “Does this mean you’ll finally give me a decent change of clothes?”

“Yeah, sorry you’ve been wearing the same shirt and pants for a couple days. Guess I haven’t really been on top of things.”

“I don’t care about not changing clothes, but your fashion sense is dismal. Do you have anything even slightly attractive?”

“You didn’t seem to mind my clothes when we first met.”

“I was veeeery high,” Klaus stressed. “My taste was bad. Like, I’m in the mood for something… not baggy and awful.” He crinkled his nose. “Though maybe I’m expecting too much, thinking you would own anything at all interesting.”

Harold sighed as he cut Klaus free. “We can take a while picking something out if you want. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Whatever makes me happy,” Klaus echoed.

Harold stepped back, having freed Klaus’s arms and legs. He kept his knife out as Klaus slowly stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving him naked. His body wasn’t as sweaty as it had been last time, though it was still terribly thin. But he was going to get better. He left his clothes in a heap again.

His eyes flickered to the edge of the bathtub. Narrowed.

Harold said, “I’m going to toss you the duct tape.”

He tossed it underhand, carefully, and Klaus easily caught it. He held the roll in his hands, looking down at it with a serious expression, lost in thought.

“Klaus?”

Klaus looked up and tossed the tape right back, straight at Harold’s face.

Harold knocked it away on reflex just as Klaus lunged at him. He was not prepared for what followed. Before Klaus had generally tried to knock Harold aside and just start running, but not today. He bore Harold to the ground, knocking Harold’s head against the ceramic tile floor, and straddled Harold’s waist, hands going for Harold’s neck. But Harold still had his knife. He stabbed at Klaus’s upper arm, leaving a long, thin scrape that made Klaus flinch back. Then he stabbed at Klaus’s chest, which sent Klaus scrambling backwards.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

There was blood dripping onto the floor. It would come out easy—no rug—but it made Harold nervous, watching it. That was blood that should probably be in Klaus’s body right now. He had to finish this up quick, without hurting Klaus too much more. Why had this needed to become a fight in the first place? Damn it, he’d said he wanted today to be a good day. One peaceful day, was that too much to ask?

Klaus was breathing hard. He had his arm cradled to his chest, but his knees were bent, wary, almost catlike. “Let me through,” he growled.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like this is about escaping,” Harold said. “Not with that face. You just want to bash my brains in.” He touched the back of his head. Ouch. There was blood on his hand when he brought it away, but he couldn’t remember if there’d been blood on it already, so it was a pointless investigation.

“I want,” Klaus panted, “just _once_ , to get a goddamn break.”

“Oh, stop acting like such a victim. You think you’re so special? You think you have it worse than anyone else in the fucking world? You think anyone has it easy? I—”

That was as far as Harold got before Klaus lunged at him again. But he wasn’t as driven this time—he was trying to protect his arm—and it cost him. Harold overbalanced him and slammed him down to the floor, twisting his arm behind his back.

“Get off.”

He put the knife to Klaus’s neck, trying to calm him, make him see reason. But Klaus ignored it. He just kept on thrashing. Harold cursed. He’d scraped Klaus’s neck by accident, more blood fluttering onto the tile. He raised the knife, trying to figure out what exactly to do with it—

And suddenly, there was—what was it—a flash of blue? Something appeared in front of Harold like a mist, a fog in his line of vision. But when it lashed out at his hand, knocking the knife to the other side of the room, it was entirely solid.

It almost knocked Harold off Klaus’s back entirely, but it didn’t, quite, and then it dissipated. Harold shoved Klaus’s head down against the floor. “What was that, Klaus?”

“What—fuck you, what was what?”

“As far as I’d heard, your powers involve the dead, not telekinesis.”

“If I had telekinesis,” Klaus said, “you would definitely know by now.”

“So what the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Get off!”

They struggled for some minutes longer before Harold managed to tape Klaus up again. He dumped Klaus in the usual chair, taped him to it, and checked out his head in the mirror. It wasn’t bleeding too much, he thought.

Klaus’s arm was still bleeding pretty badly. It was a long scratch. Harold shook his head. His first aid kit was downstairs in the kitchen, beneath the sink—he’d have to fetch it. It was a good thing, maybe. He needed a breather before really talking to Klaus about anything.

In the kitchen he leaned against the fridge and took deep breaths. What the fuck had the blue thing been? It had come out of nowhere. If it had hit Harold just a little bit harder, it could have turned the fight around. It hadn’t. But it had clearly been Klaus’s work, whatever it was, and it had been dangerous. A close call.

“Klaus’s problem was fear,” Vanya had written. “Father even said that he could probably harness more power than he ever actually did. He was too afraid to look. He was too afraid to try.”

A decade on drugs without the use of his powers. Klaus said he didn’t have telekinesis, but how would he even know what he could do? That was the whole point of this, after all. Helping Klaus find his powers again. He’d found _something_.

That was good, right? Progress.

But if he’d had that blue thing a little longer, or controlled it a little better, he could have beaten Harold. He could have killed Harold—or, more likely, he could have escaped.

After all Harold had done for him! After he’d managed to actually get sober enough to awaken his powers, he wanted to beat Harold up and leave.

He’d probably go right back to doing drugs and put all of Harold’s work to waste.

Harold closed his eyes.

Klaus couldn’t leave Harold.

He pushed off the fridge and opened up one of the counter drawers. Next to the utensils he had stored a small bottle. The bottle he’d acquired just yesterday at Vanya’s apartment.

He’d almost washed the contents down the sink. Something had stopped him. He hadn’t been sure what. Now he held the bottle in his hand, looking at the small white pills inside. Reginald had listed all the ingredients and all their effects in his notebook. They weren’t really harmful to anyone, apart from power inhibition and mood alteration. They weren’t opiates or any of the stuff Klaus would probably use if he got back on the street.

Klaus wasn’t ready to leave Harold. He wasn’t.

Harold filled a glass with water. He dissolved two pills into it; then, on contemplation, another two. Klaus had enough experience with drugs that he was likely to have a strong resistance, and it was only twice the recommended dose. Hell, it might not even be enough. But it was as many as he was willing to risk.

He got out the first aid kit and went upstairs.

Klaus had calmed down some, but he was still fuming. “What the fuck took you so long. I’m going to bleed to death.”

“You’re not going to bleed to death,” Harold said shortly.

He took out a sterilized needle and some medical thread. The cut was long enough to require quite a few stitches. Klaus yelped as he worked, but he held his arm perfectly still, so Harold suspected the yelps were largely for effect. Klaus didn’t really care that much about pain, as far as Harold could tell, not this kind of pain. He was a child soldier. The only thing that really affected him was withdrawal.

(Now he was going to have to go through that again at some point. But Harold wasn’t going to think about that. Now wasn’t the time—he had plans to make, but not yet, not yet.)

He cut the thread and put it and the needle away. Then he put a bandage on Klaus’s neck. The cut there was shallow, the blood already clotted, but it freaked him out. Hopefully it would heal soon and wouldn’t leave a scar.

Not that Klaus didn’t have a lot of scars already.

“—fuck, seriously, you can’t just stab people in the neck, why the hell are you such a creep.”

Klaus had been swearing the whole time.

“Would you like some water?” Harold asked.

“Yes,” Klaus snapped.

“All right.”

He gave it to Klaus in mouthfuls, waiting for him to swallow before offering him a little more. He finished the whole glass.

“Sorry,” he said when he was done.

Klaus blinked at him. “Oh? You’re apologizing?” He laughed.

Harold sighed. “Maybe when you’ve calmed down a bit we can try this again. You really do need a bath.”

He retrieved his knife from the corner of the bathroom where it had fallen. The blood had dried on it. He rinsed it in the sink, browning blood turning red again with moisture.

* * *

It turned out Klaus couldn’t have a bath. Harold had googled it—you weren’t supposed to get stitches wet for forty-eight hours. Instead, Harold had used a washcloth to wash Klaus while he was still tied to the chair, carefully working around the stitches, and then had made Klaus get dressed and brought him back to bed.

Klaus didn’t mind any of that though. His head was blank.

He knew he’d been upset earlier. He wasn’t upset now, though. Not that he was exactly happy either. He felt… not much. A little spacey. Perfect.

Apathy was the closest thing to death he’d ever managed for himself.

A thin voice bothered at him. “Klaus. _Klaus_. Klaus, can you hear me?”

“Speak up, Ben.”

“Klaus. He’s gone. Harold’s dad, I mean. He’s gone. _Klaus_! Pay attention.”

Klaus blinked.

Harold was sitting beside the bed. He was working on another carving, even though he wasn’t in his workroom. There was no ghost behind him.

But it wasn’t like Klaus minded that.

“Klaus? Klaus, can you…”

Ben kept on trailing off at the end of his sentences. Klaus glanced over at him, but he was gone. So he’d either wandered off, or the drugs had blocked him out.

He knew Harold had drugged him. He wasn’t fucking stupid. Well, maybe he was stupid—he hadn’t tasted anything in the water, and that had to have been it. But he knew how it felt to be high, and this was definitely some good stuff. He only wondered where Harold had got it, and why he’d decided to give it to Klaus now.

But even that was only a passing curiosity. His head was blank; the reason, ultimately, didn’t really matter.

He was sure Ben would come back eventually. He always did. In the meantime, he would enjoy the silence, broken only by the scratching of the wood under Harold’s knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmmmmmyeah.  
> Reginald's drugs are some hard stuff.  
> Anyways we're slowly heading into endgame so from now on I'm not giving any more previews here in the notes. ...probably. If I can resist.  
> I'm responding to comments slowly still so if I haven't responded to you yet I still love you and I'm glad y'all are sticking with this fic.


	10. Chapter 10

“You guys have to be mistaken.”

Luther crossed his arms. “There’s no mistake. The guy at the pawnshop recognized him and said he was with Klaus.”

“Maybe it was just a guy who looked like him.” Vanya crossed her arms right back. She wasn’t going to bow down to Number One anymore; she’d obsessed over what her family thought of her for too long. “How did you have a picture of him anyways?”

“We googled it. I told you I googled him the other day and found basically nothing on him…”

“So now it’s a crime to be a private person! What are we, the FBI? I mean, seriously.”

Allison held up her phone. The picture on the screen was Leonard, sure enough—not the most flattering picture, but certainly him. Still. A lot of people looked alike—they said everyone had at least one double running around out there. Vanya had never met hers but maybe this was Leonard’s.

“I know it’s hard to believe anything bad about someone you like, but… it looks really suspicious,” Allison said. “I mean, Klaus has disappeared. There’s a covert organization after him. And the last time he was seen, that we know of, was with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Vanya said automatically, then hated herself for it. It sounded like she was rejecting their association, admitting that something might be wrong with Leonard. That wasn’t true. What was between her and Leonard was new, but it was something fresh and beautiful and good, and Leonard… Leonard would have an explanation for this. If there even was a “this”. She really thought that clerk might have been mistaken. She took a deep breath. “He’s… he’s a friend. Look, I don’t think it was him. But if it was him, that’s good, right? He can tell us what he and Klaus talked about. Maybe he knows where Klaus is.”

“So you’ll talk to him for us,” Five said. He’d been mostly sitting back while Luther and Allison delivered the exposition; Diego was gone for this particular meeting, apparently having had work to do tonight.

“I’ll talk to him. But you don’t have to act like he’s some kind of suspect.”

Five narrowed his eyes. “Typical sentimentality. When did you get a boyfriend, anyway?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s a friend.” Vanya was starting to get irritated at Five now, which made her feel bad. He’d been missing for something like fifteen years, he’d just gotten back, and he’d always been her favorite brother, and here she was mad at him already. _I’m sorry_. But Leonard had told her she didn’t have to apologize for feeling things. She squared her shoulders. “We met about… five days ago? The day after you showed up. I guess it was an eventful couple days.”

“So literally the day after Klaus disappeared.”

“I mean, I guess so. If we’re calling it a disappearance now. You guys said he was seen that night at a bar, it’s still possible he just wandered off…”

“You were worried about him earlier today,” Five said. “And now you’re not? Because your boyfriend might have something to do with it?”

“Of course I’m still worried! But you  act like…”

“It is a large coincidence, though,” Allison said. “That he met Klaus and then you within two days.” She held up her hands at Vanya’s glare. “I’m just saying…”

“When else would he meet Klaus? Klaus doesn’t exactly live in the area.” Not that any of them really had any idea where Klaus generally lived. He lived everywhere and nowhere. “And for that matter, how do you know it was the first time they’d met each other? They might be old friends.”

“Leonard Plaid-body and Klaus? Friends?”

Okay, maybe not exactly likely. Klaus didn’t have many friends, period, and Leonard was a little white bread for a guy like him, but… “Well, anyways, he didn’t know who I was. He probably didn’t know who Klaus was either. And I can’t exactly picture him being tied with a couple of housebreakers in animal masks.”

Five sighed. Rubbing his forehead, he said, “We don’t think he has anything to do with them. We think he might have something to do with the apocalypse. Or if he doesn’t, he might at least know where Klaus is, and Klaus almost certainly does. Can we please keep this simple? Just go ask your boyfriend some questions, and do it as soon as possible. We’re running out of time.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Vanya muttered. She was starting to get a headache too. “Fine! I already said I’ll ask him. But you guys are being ridiculous.”

Luther cleared his throat. “Uh, there’s one other thing you should know.”

“What?”

“I know this guy isn’t your boyfriend…”

“Yeah, he’s not.”

“…but… Diego and I went back to the bar with the photo of him, and he was definitely there with Klaus the same afternoon he was at the pawnshop.”

“Still not a crime.”

“Well, the bartender saw them kissing.”

Vanya pressed her lips together. It was stupid to be jealous. She knew the only reason she’d feel something so irrational was because he and Allison and Five had her worked up already. Logically, the bartender could be misremembering things, or could be thinking of a different guy, just like the pawnshop clerk. Logically, it didn’t matter if Leonard had kissed Klaus anyhow—she hadn’t met him yet then, and they weren’t even dating now anyways, so it didn’t… It wasn’t like Leonard would have been cheating on her.

Just. She and Klaus weren’t exactly similar. A guy who liked Klaus wasn’t likely to see much in her.

_All the more reason he’s probably wrong_ , she told herself. _Leonard probably didn’t kiss Klaus anyways. This is all a huge mistake. Stupid fucking family. Why did I bother coming back? Why do I ever bother?_

“I’ll call him tonight,” she said shortly. “And I’ll call you guys with what I’ve learned.”

“Call him here,” Five suggested.

“Why, are you worried I’ll leave something out?”

“I’m _worried_ that we’re wasting a lot of time when the world is ending in days.”

Oh yeah, Five was still having a mental breakdown. Vanya shook her head. “I’ll call you.” She left without responding to Allison calling after her. Something comforting, as if an apology could make up for the insanity of the day. Was this how she sounded when she apologized? All the better that she’d decided to quit.

She did call Leonard when she got home, but she didn’t get around to actually asking him anything. He sounded a little tired, and she felt bad hassling him. He did sound happy to hear from her, though, and she was happy to hear his voice. Somehow even having known him for just this long, he had become her respite.

It almost startled her when he asked, “Hey, uh… I’m sorry if this is a sensitive subject, but did you ever find that brother of yours?”

“No, uh, he’s still missing.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m not that worried. He can take care of himself.”

“Still, you have to be…”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

When the conversation was over, she stared at her hands. A perfect opportunity to ask, and she’d thrown it away. Then again, it might be a better question to ask in person. That way she could watch his reactions. Surely Luther and Diego themselves would agree with that. And Five thought everything was so urgent, but sometimes you had to work slow to get things done. She’d drop by the store tomorrow, find him, and talk.

He’d actually been worried about Klaus, though he had had no clue who he was, or that the two of them might have met. Only worried for her sake, but she wished Klaus hadn’t even come up. Bitterly she thought to herself that Klaus always did get everything she wanted. A place on the team, even though his powers had been useless in a fight; Reginald always worrying about his drug habits even if that worry took the form of scolding and discipline; Diego and Luther and Allison and even Five all worrying their heads off about him…

(She knew she wasn’t being fair. But it was late at night and the facts remained: Klaus could ruin his life all he wanted and everyone would still love him. Vanya could have become first violin and no one would ever have given a shit.)

And now Leonard.

But they might be wrong about Leonard.

They probably were.

They had to be.

They probably were.

* * *

In the morning she woke up with a new briskness of purpose, bordering on impatience. She couldn’t find her pill bottle but who gave a fuck? She’d done fine without the pills so far, and she’d keep on being fine. She didn’t need them. Her family had been wrong about that, and they were wrong about the situation with Leonard, and they were wrong about everything. She’d prove them wrong and be done with it.

So she went to the woodshop early. All the better to talk to him as soon as possible. But the sign on the door said it was closed, even though the hours, also given on the door, said it should be open. Damn.

Wishing she’d arranged to meet Leonard for breakfast (but she hadn’t because she hadn’t been ready to talk to him about this, not really, hadn’t wanted to talk to him about it, stupid stupid stupid), she took out her phone and gave his cell phone a call. He picked up after a few rings. “Vanya? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, not really. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Anything.”

“In person. Can I come over?” She was already walking in the direction of his house.

“Oh, sorry. I’m at the shop right now. I’m kind of busy. Maybe we could meet up this evening? Or this afternoon?”

She bit her lip.

“Vanya?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She hung up and kept walking. Maybe he was busy. No, he really very well might be busy. And it was his right not to tell her where he was, but to outright lie about it… unless he was inside the shop even though it was closed, but the lights had been off. Why would he lie to her? No, calm down. He had his reasons.

And she’d get them out of him just as soon as she saw him in person.

She was striding with purpose, the beat of her heart keeping her in tempo. All those years with pills dampening her emotions. Now she felt so much more, such a tangle of things—anger, confusion, hurt, motivation—and, too, desire. She wanted Leonard, had ever since meeting him. It pulsed in her blood. Even her anger only made the desire burn hotter. They’d settle this and then, and then…

And then her family and the whole world could go to hell.

* * *

She had thought maybe Leonard might be on his way to the woodshop, making his statement only a white lie, or perhaps he might be out and about town. But when she knocked on the door—and she knocked for a long time—he eventually answered. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face. He smiled awkwardly (though when was he not awkward). “Vanya! This is a surprise.”

“I know you said you were busy, but this can’t wait.”

“I am, actually, busy. But, uh…” He hesitated. She stared at him. “Come in, I guess. I’m sorry I’m not exactly prepared for your visit.”

“That’s fine.” She strode in and sat down on the couch. “Here. Sit.”

He sat.

“You know my brother’s missing.”

“Yeah. It’s terrible. I’m so sorry…”

“My siblings and I did a little looking around. Klaus was seen in a bar the day before he went missing, in the company of someone who looked a lot like you. So, uh. Do you have anything to say about that?”

“Someone who looked a lot like me?”

“As in, they showed the bartender your picture and he was positive.” Vanya leaned back, looking at Leonard’s dumbfounded expression. Ugh. “Look, I know this is weird, but were you at a bar the night before you met me? My brother’s, uh… well, he doesn’t look like me. We were adopted, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess, since you’re the whole… Umbrella Thing.”

“Yeah, that. He’s taller, obviously. Kind of skinny. Dark, curly hair, kind of like a mop or something. He wears a lot of eyeliner. That night, he was wearing a black coat with fur. Did you see anyone like that?”

Leonard frowned. “I… Yeah, Vanya. I did. Um. There’s something you should know about me.”

“What?”

“Actually I’m bisexual.” Leonard smiled self deprecatingly. “So yeah, I guess I kind of flirted with him. He kind of chatted me up. He was cute, in a way. Uh, not really my type, though, so we only talked for a little while. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. If I’d know  he was your brother… not that I knew you at the time… But really, I had no idea. Wow. So that was your brother Klaus.”

“No one would really expect us to be siblings. It’s fine.” Vanya sighed. Okay, so her family had been right about one thing. Though the meeting had clearly been a coincidence, nothing so nefarious as Allison thought. Had Klaus and Leonard really kissed, though? “Can you tell me about your meeting in detail? Any information would be useful.”

“I don’t remember it that well. It was a few days ago, and I’d had a little to drink. Umm…” Leonard paused. “I met him outside the bar, and we came in together. Flirting a little. He talked about ghosts, too, he was kind of weird. And he said he had some cash so he bought me a drink. I don’t know. We, uh…” He paused again. “He kissed me once. But we didn’t really hit it off, so he headed out before I did. Guess I’m not his type either.”

So they had kissed. That kind of irked Vanya. But, more than that…

They’d met outside the bar?

“And that was the first time you’d met him?” Vanya asked.

“Yeah. I think I would have recognized him. He’s quite a character, your brother. With all the…” he made vague gestures around his shoulder, maybe mimicking the fur of the coat.

Vanya nodded. “Yeah, I guess. And you’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. Sorry, Vanya, he didn’t say anything about his plans. I don’t know where he would have gone. Clearly was looking for a good time, so maybe he went to another bar? Found another guy?”

“I guess.” Actually he’d gone right home, judging by their timeline. But the timeline was messed up here in a bigger way. Which was that he hadn’t mentioned the pawnshop.

Why wouldn’t he mention the pawnshop? Of course, that still might not have been him, but the chances seemed low that Klaus would have met Leonard at the bar and hung out with his double earlier in the day. Probability indicated it was Leonard. But why would Leonard be with Klaus at a pawnshop, and then just not mention it, when Klaus was missing? When this was important to Vanya, and any little detail could help?

_He’s lying to me. But why?_

“Thanks for the help,” she said. “I really am sorry to crash like this.” What would Diego do in a situation like this? He was the most sleuth-y of them all. She bit her lip. “Uh, can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” He indicated a bathroom near the stairs. “I’ll get you something to eat while you’re in there. It’s almost noon.”

She nodded and went to the bathroom. Splashed her face with a little cold water to sharpen her nerves.

Diego would search the house, she was pretty sure. In fact, he still might, when she told them all about this. Poor Leonard, subject to the Hargreeves Inquisition. But she couldn’t just let it rest.

Maybe it would be better if she did the searching herself, right now.

She looked through the bathroom—the cupboard behind the mirror (only the normal medications—aspirin, cold medicine, sleeping pills, etc), the cupboard under the sink—then left quietly, thanking God the hinges didn’t squeak. The stairs didn’t squeak either—her luck was holding—and Leonard didn’t come out of the kitchen to see what she was up to. Upstairs there was another bathroom. This one was kind of weird. There was a chair next to the toilet, a wooden chair with some slight stains on the arms and legs. She noticed some stains in the grout between the tiles too.

In the cupboard under the sink she found the usual: cleaning supplies, extra toilet paper. Then a roll of duct tape, half used up. But nothing that weird.

And there was nothing criminal about keeping a chair in the bathroom, it was just… odd.

The next room was his bedroom, and here she found Klaus.

He was stretched out on the bed with his wrists over his head—tied to the headboard, she realized with a slight sense of shock. He was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, the pants a little too short and the shirt a little too loose (but when did any of Klaus’s clothes ever fit him, he was always borrowing or stealing them to begin with) and his feet were bare.

His face was bruised.

There was a piece of tape over his mouth. When she looked at the bedside table, she saw the rest of the roll. Just like the roll in the bathroom. This roll was not as used-up—smart of Leonard to keep more than one, though, you’d need a lot to keep a guy like Klaus down.

Klaus’s eyes fixed on her and widened slightly. The eye contact broke her out of her shock. Mostly; she still felt vaguely seasick, as if the floor was warping under her. She swallowed, got herself together. When the world was standing still again, she hurried over to the bed. “Klaus. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Mphm.”

She used one hand to hold Klaus’s head still and ripped the tape off with the other. Klaus gasped when his mouth was free. “Shit, that hurts!”

He was talking too loud. “Shh. Leonard’s right downstairs.”

“Ugh… Don’t scold me, Vanya.” Klaus blinked. “Have you seen Ben? I thought he’d be back first…”

“Klaus, Ben’s…” Now was not the time to break Klaus out of his usual ramblings. His pupils were blown wide; clearly he was on some kind of trip and had no idea the trouble he was in. She’d have to get him out of here as dead weight. “Here, let me look at the ropes.”

The knots were tight. She worked at them frantically for a few minutes before giving up. Her fingernails weren’t long enough, and her efforts were clearly hurting Klaus.  He was jerking his neck, and… oh God, there was a bandage on his neck, a large one. What had happened to his neck? Never mind, never mind, she had to focus. “Klaus, do you know where I can find a knife?”

“He keeps some in the workroom.”

“The workroom?” Knives in a workroom with Klaus tied up on a bed. Didn’t sound good. …oh, but he was a woodworker. So maybe… no, it really didn’t make things better. “Where is that?”

“Right down the hall.” But as she moved away from the bed, Klaus called out, “Wait! Where are you going?”

“To get a knife. I told you. I’ll be right back.”

Klaus nodded.

Vanya took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. Then there was a sharp pain in her head. She tilted backward, but hands grabbed her before she could collapse back into the bedroom. The world was going black.

The last thing she heard was a long string of muttered curses. It seemed just about appropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanya is not having a good day.


	11. Chapter 11

Klaus had mixed feelings on the Vanya apparition.

He at first thought she had to be a hallucination or a ghost, but since she wasn’t acting like either, he pushed the thought aside and fuzzily remembered that Harold had heard the doorbell ringing or a knock or something and that was why he wasn’t here right now and why Klaus had tape over his mouth. Right. So. Vanya.

His second thought was that it was rather nice that she was here—he hadn’t had any company other than Harold and Ben in days, and it really was wearing, nice of Vanya to drop by—but now she was grabbing the tape on his mouth and “Shit, that hurts!”

And then she was scolding him about speaking too loudly. Well fuck, Vanya, he’d been held captive for almost a week now, it was enough to make anyone a little irritable. Not that he really was feeling irritable. At the moment he was feeling pretty good—though nothing very strongly—which was just about ideal…

The way she was scolding him reminded him of Ben. He asked Vanya if she’d seen him—shouldn’t he be here by now?—but she didn’t give him any kind of answer. The people in this family, really. They never seemed to take Klaus’s questions seriously.

Instead she clambered up onto the bed and started working at the knots on his wrists, digging them tighter into his own skin. It hurt, more than the tape ripping off even. He moaned. “Vanya… cut it out.”

She sighed. Sitting back, she said, “Klaus, do you know where I can find a knife?”

There were knives all over the fucking house for Harold’s convenience. It was one of the frightening things about living here; not that Klaus lived here, he was just the local kidnappee in the attic/bedroom/whatever. What did Vanya want a knife for anyways? Was she going to kill Harold? A part of Klaus let out a quiet yippee, another part of him felt vaguely distressed…. Oh, wait, he’d never actually answered her, and she was still looking at him. Setting his moral crisis aside, Klaus said, “He keeps some in the workroom.” Way too many, honestly.

“Where is that?”

“Right down the hall.”

Vanya nodded. Then she started to leave. Klaus panicked. “Wait, where are you going?” She couldn’t leave him alone here without Ben. She’d only just gotten here.

“To get a knife. I told you. I’ll be right back.”

Oh, right. Klaus swallowed and nodded. Would she be back? Even as she opened the door out into the hallway, she felt like a hallucination. He blinked…

And then the door was opening in again, letting Harold’s voice into the room. Cursing, which was kind of unusual for him, not that Klaus really knew his normal—again, he was just the local kidnappee, no kind of expert—and then Harold came through the door with Vanya in his arms.

She looked unconscious. Not asleep, either. Klaus knew the difference between asleep and unconscious pretty well; he’d spent years doing drugs with people and sleeping with people and occasionally getting into fights with people, and he’d seen lots of people sleeping and lots of people knocked unconscious and a few people dead. Vanya didn’t look dead, but she wasn’t sleeping. There was blood seeping down the side of her head—it seemed to be gathering in her ear, which would probably annoy her later—and she was a little too still for someone in the arms of such a noisy guy as Harold currently was being.

Harold dumped her on the bed at Klaus’s feet. Klaus tried his best to sit up and get a look at her. “Vanya’s hurt.”

“No shit,” Harold spat out. “This is your fault, Klaus. You and your fucking family. I can’t believe I got myself involved with you. Shit. You made me give her a fucking concussion.”

Klaus pushed aside the whole guilt trippy thing Harold had going for the more relevant revelation: “You hit her on the head?”

Perhaps that should have been obvious. But, but… maybe it was the drugs he was on but Harold had always seemed to… well, not to love Vanya, but he’d always said so many good things about her, and he’d definitely seemed to get along with her better than with Klaus. Plus, people didn’t hurt Vanya. It just wasn’t done.

He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists and the lethargy still holding him back from panic. This was bad. This was wrong. “You hurt Vanya.”

“You and your fucking bars,” Harold snarled. “You and your need to be high or drunk all the time. If you hadn’t dragged me to that place—you got us caught by a bartender! Now probably your whole family’s after me, and Vanya’s never going to trust me again…” He pulled at his hair, grimacing. “All because you couldn’t take me somewhere a bit more private than a bar in the middle of town, because you’re a pathetic addict and your whole family knows it. Fucking bastard.”

Klaus was completely lost. He couldn’t follow the ferocity of Harold’s mood, or why Harold had needed to hit Vanya, and there was nothing he could do to help her. All he could do was continue to tug at the ropes and try to hold back a keening sound building in the back of his throat while Harold viciously tore some duct tape off the roll on the bedside table and taped Vanya’s arms and legs the same way he usually taped Klaus’s.

“Vanya,” Klaus said. It came out quieter than intended.

Harold huffed at him. He disappeared out the door for a moment and came back with a damp washcloth, which he used to wipe the blood off Vanya’s head. Then he hefted her body to lie next to Klaus and said, “She’s not hurt badly. Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back.”

Klaus, feelingvaguely deputized, took a look at Vanya’s head wound for himself. Didn’t seem that bad, he supposed. It didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, which for a head injury was very good. It was kind of creepy to have her lying so still next to him, though, and he was vaguely relieved when she began to groan and blink her eyes open.

When she saw Klaus’s face about an inch away from hers, she let out a squeal. He rolled back a bit. “Vanya, it’s okay, it’s just me, Klaus, your favorite brother. It’s okay.”

“Klaus…” Vanya held her hands up, eyeing her duct taped wrists. “The hell is this?”

“Ah, that was Harold.” Vanya seemed confused. Klaus clarified: “I mean, Leonard. He doesn’t seem to be happy.”

“Yeah, I guess the fucker wouldn’t be. I’m not super happy either.” Vanya patted Klaus’s side with both hands at once—they didn’t part with the wrists taped together. “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

“That’s nice.”

“Vanya! You’re awake.”

Vanya turned over. Harold emerged through the doorway with a first aid kit in his hands. He frowned. “…maybe I don’t really need this after all.”

“Yeah, you don’t, because there’s no way I’m letting you touch me.” Vanya sat up. “Leonard, I’m going to kill you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Look, I can see why you’re angry. This,” Harold gestured at Klaus, “does not look good. But just yesterday, I had Klaus sober and he was doing really well. We were making great progress. I just need more time.”

Vanya blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it doesn’t sound like a good reason to have my _brother_ tied up on a _bed_. If you’ve—what has he done to you?” she asked Klaus, a furrow growing in her forehead.

“He forced me through withdrawal,” Klaus said. “He’s also punched me, threatened me with a knife, generally been an asshole… and he drugged me yesterday, but I don’t know if that counts.” It wasn’t exactly a bad thing so he was inclined not to count it against Harold, but he knew that it was the sort of thing that would probably make Vanya angry, and he was enjoying her current rage.

“You threatened my brother with a knife,” Vanya said. Apparently focusing on the least of many evils for the moment, but to be fair it did sound dramatic when she said it in that voice.

Harold put his hands up. “Okay, you’re clearly not in the mood to discuss this rationally.”

“I _would_ like to hear an explanation,” Vanya said, “ _after_ you’ve untied him and gotten these _things_ off me.” She kicked her duct-taped legs to emphasize that.

“Look,” Harold said, “I’ll let you go if you listen to me, okay? I just need to explain some things.”

Vanya sighed. She glanced at Klaus, then nodded.

Harold proceeded to deliver a brief explanation of the past… week?... which Klaus found pretty boring considering he’d been here for all of it. It emphasized that Klaus had been the one to initiate their current “relationship”, but that they hadn’t had sex since the first time, which, Harold noted, was before he’d met Vanya anyways, so she really couldn’t be mad, since from his point of view, both relationships were now more or less platonic even though he cared for them both very deeply. Vanya seemed kind of grossed out, and didn’t get less so the more Harold explained. Harold also explained his goal of “helping” Klaus get sober so he could use his abilities more fully, and that he hoped to do the same for Vanya.

“Leonard,” Vanya said, “I don’t _have_ powers. It’s been thirty years. I think I’d know by now.”

“Reginald’s pills were holding you back,” Harold said softly. “He was afraid of you. I wanted to give you a chance to find out what you could do when nothing was stopping you.”

Vanya looked skeptical.

Harold said, “Just a second.”

He ran off. Vanya turned to Klaus. “Is he telling the truth?”

“Mostly. I haven’t been paying that much attention. He’s kind of a bore. No offense, of course,” Klaus added quickly. “I mean, I was into him for about ten seconds too, but… you might consider breaking up with him.”

Vanya snorted. “Yeah. I’m considering it.”

Well, that was good.

Harold returned with the notebook that Klaus had thrown in the trash when it all began. He flipped to various pages and showed them to Vanya with quick, breathless explanations. Klaus tuned him out. He was starting to get a small headache. How long had it been since Harold last dosed him up? Harold had been sneaky about it the first time, so there was no real way for Klaus to know if he’d snuck something into Klaus’s breakfast or not. They’d been going to have lunch soon, and Klaus was getting hungry… He cleared his throat. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, but can we please eat?”

Both Harold and Vanya looked at him incredulously. Harold recovered faster. “Of course. Vanya, I’ll get something for you, too.”

“Cool. Can you get me out of these things first?” She held up her wrists.

“Vanya, I can’t trust you yet. I don’t want to have to fight you.”

“So you’re going to hold me prisoner like Klaus until you’re convinced or something? Come on, Leonard. You know that’s ridiculous.”

“I just don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”

“You can’t hold me here anyways. You can’t keep either of us. Our family knows you saw Klaus, and they know I was going to come and talk to you. And if you’re really into the Umbrella Academy—” Vanya looked a little sour at this; _tough luck, sis, maybe you’ll find a better match next time_ , “—you know you don’t want to be on their bad side.”

Harold cocked his head. “…are you threatening me, Vanya?”

“I’m just letting you know how things stand.” Vanya raised her chin. “This doesn’t have to be a fight if you don’t make it one. Just let me and Klaus go, and we’ll work things out peacefully.”

Harold nodded slowly. “I’ll get you guys some lunch. I guess I have to think a bit.”

He disappeared yet again.

Klaus gazed off into the corner of the room. Maybe the drugs really were starting to wear off. He thought he could see a shadow there—could the shadow be Ben? “Ben?” he whispered.

“Ben’s dead, Klaus,” Vanya said. “But it’s okay. I’ll get you out.”

She’d already said that once. Klaus didn’t take promises seriously until they were fulfilled. They were nice, though. They really were nice—even when they were broken, it was the thought that counted.

“Is the family really looking for us?”

“Yeah. You were seen at a bar with Leonard before you disappeared, so they thought it seemed kind of suspicious that Leonard showed up around me.”

“His name’s Harold,” Klaus corrected absently. “Harold Jenkins. That’s funny. Our family doesn’t usually care when people disappear.”

“Five’s on about some kind of apocalypse thing, so.”

“Oh yeah. Five’s back.” Klaus snuggled up against Vanya’s back. “How is he?”

“Kind of paranoid. But he’s okay.”

“That’s nice.” Klaus closed his eyes. “Tell him I said hi.”

“When we’re out of here, you can just tell him yourself. Unless you’re planning on running off again. Are you?”

“I guess I’ll stick around,” Klaus decided. Since Vanya was being so nice.

Lunch, provided by Harold, was just sandwiches, but it was pretty good. There was orange juice too. Harold didn’t eat or drink, but hovered over them, making remarks to Vanya and casting Klaus nervous looks. He was antsy. Klaus didn’t like it. Maybe he’d snuck the good stuff in Klaus’s food and was wondering if Klaus would guess. As if Klaus would care…

It had to be something like that, because as he finished eating, Klaus started feeling sleepy. He curled up against Vanya and drifted off to the sound of Harold continuing to ramble and Vanya’s hesitant replies.

* * *

 

Harold wanted to hate Klaus for forcing it all to come to this.

None of this needed to be happening. Klaus could have brought him somewhere other than that bar on their first date. They could have never been seen, and things could have continued smoothly with no outside Hargreeves influence. Or Klaus could have agreed to work on becoming sober, and Harold wouldn’t have had to keep him here by force, and Vanya wouldn’t have been mad at him.

But Vanya was mad at him. And if Harold was honest with himself, it wasn’t really Klaus’s fault. He’d been an addict long, long before meeting Harold. That was why he needed Harold to help him. It was Vanya’s own fault that she couldn’t understand that. Harold had always thought she was nicer than Klaus, and now… she’d snuck around his house like she was investigating a criminal. She’d wanted him to let Klaus go.

But he couldn’t do that.

If he let Klaus go, who would help Klaus get sober? Vanya? She’d never tried before—her memoir would have said so if she had. Klaus _needed_ Harold. And Harold…

Harold didn’t _need_ Klaus, but he wanted him. He… he loved him. He couldn’t let Vanya force them apart.

And that was why, unfortunately, he was going to have to give up on her.

He’d done all he could, really. Shown her the papers, told her that the pills were doing her no good. He could only take on so many projects at once, and clearly he shouldn’t have tried to handle Klaus and Vanya at the same time to begin with. Now if he tried to help Vanya get sober he’d have to keep her captive just like Klaus, and that would be a bit much. One Hargreeves was already hard to control. Two, actively fighting him, would be impossible.

He put the sleeping pills in both her drink and Klaus’s. He worried they’d notice, but they didn’t. As soon as they were asleep, he got to work. He cut the tape on Vanya’s wrists and ankles—she’d said her family would bust the house soon, but there was no way of knowing that, and he wasn’t going to leave her tied up here, alone, in an empty house.

Because the house would soon be empty. He couldn’t just stay here for the Umbrella Academy to break in and kill him—or worse, send him to jail. He swallowed, thinking about it. No way was he going back to prison. His first sentence had been hell. Never again.

No, he had to get going.

He packed the car lightly—the cabin would already have near everything he needed. He checked carefully to make sure no one was looking before bringing Klaus out, wearing the big black coat draped around his shoulders to distract from the tape around his ankles and wrists. Just in case.

He put Klaus in the passenger’s seat, wrists out of sight for anyone looking through the window. It should be safe enough to have him there—the drive wasn’t so long, and the sleeping pills should keep him unconscious for hours. He ruffled Klaus’s hair fondly before turning his attention to the road. The man was adorable when he slept. Pity his family was so much trouble.

But no one knew about the cabin. Certainly Vanya didn’t. They should be safe there, at least long enough to regroup. Harold wasn’t quite sure what he’d do next. If he was on the run, he’d have to leave behind his home, his woodshop, his whole life. It would hurt. But Vanya hadn’t exactly left him any choice, had she? She and the Hargreeves would be on his back no matter what he did from here on out. There was no backing out.

It would hurt, he thought to himself. He was in for the fight of his life. But somehow, as he backed his car out of the driveway, he found himself feeling exhilarated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanya, Vanya, Vaaanya.  
> Anyways if you're wondering why it's been three weeks since I last updated (which you probably aren't bc I doubt most of you are keeping track), the next chapter was being a bitch. Now I've split it into at least two chapters instead of one and I think it will be more manageable. But we'll see.  
> the adventures continue!


	12. Chapter 12

Klaus emerged into consciousness slowly. There was a quiet all around him, such that even as he stared up at the ceiling, he wasn’t sure that he was actually awake. The ceiling was unfamiliar, wood rather than the plaster of Harold’s bedroom. But he’d woken up in many unfamiliar rooms before.

Though he was still tied up—hands duct taped, ankles the same, though neither attached to the bed he was lying on. But being tied up had become enough part of his reality that he might easily dream about it, too.

“Ben,” he said. His voice barely broke the silence. There was no response.

Ben wasn’t always around, but he usually was when Klaus woke up in strange places. Klaus’s unattached attitude towards his own safety drove Ben insane. Though Klaus would have denied it, he kind of liked when Ben ranted about his stupid choices or even just snarked at him about how stupid he was being. At least someone cared, even if Klaus didn’t.

No, he didn’t care where he was or how he got here. Even in consciousness there was a layer of fuzziness between him and the world. Dream or reality, what did it matter?

When he searched his memory, he wasn’t quite sure whether he was dreaming either—or when the dream might have begun. He remembered seeing Vanya; that was realistic enough except for the fact that she’d said the family was searching for him, which seemed more like the kind of thing he made up when he was on drugs. And he was on drugs now. At least he was pretty sure about that. A smile slid over his face. “Lucy in the sky with diamonds,” he sang to himself softly. “Lucy in the sky with diamonds…”

Truthfully he wasn’t much for psychedelic art and music, but he appreciated them for what they were. He was still humming when Harold arrived, a signal that this was reality. He wasn’t crushing on Harold, no matter what Harold might think or Ben might say, so he would never dream about him either. And Harold was so damn down to earth.

“Klaus. How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy,” Klaus said. “Have you seen Ben around?”

Harold frowned.

“Just kidding,” Klaus explained. He laughed. “What do you have me on, Harold? You should try it yourself.”

This did not cheer Harold up very much, but he smiled wryly. “I’ll get you something to eat and drink.”

“Mm. And the pills?” Klaus wouldn’t mind a double dose.

“None for now.”

“You aren’t going to try to put me through withdrawal again, are you? God, that was such a drag.” Though it didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

“Not for now. We have other things to worry about.”

“We? We’re not Bonnie and Clyde, Harold, so unless you’re worried about your pill supply, keep me out of your problems.”

“You’re involved,” Harold said, “because you got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Seriously, why does everyone blame everything on me? All the time,” Klaus lamented. “Constantly.”

Harold flopped down on the bed next to Klaus. Inches away, but not touching. “Maybe because you’re a lot of trouble.”

“Mm.”

“Your family’s probably going to come after us,” he continued. “We had to leave the city— _I_ had to ditch Vanya…”

“Wait, what?” Klaus had closed his eyes to relax. Now he opened them. “Vanya?”

“I left her at the house. She’ll probably tell your whole family I’m a serial killer or something. Which I’m not,” he added quickly.

“I know you’re not a serial killer. You’d have more ghosts.”

“See? Sensible.” Harold sighed. “Vanya… the way she was looking at me. I can’t believe she gave up on me so fast, after all we had.”

What they’d had was a relationship filled with lies, but Klaus didn’t feel like arguing. If Harold was done with Vanya, that was good. It was great, actually. Harold wasn’t creeping on Vanya anymore, and he was giving Klaus drugs—free drugs!—and everything was quiet and nice. He also apparently had delusions that Klaus’s family was going to come after them like a bunch of harpies, but Klaus didn’t particularly mind that. It was a little bit funny.

“It’s okay though,” Harold said after a minute. “I don’t need Vanya. _We_ don’t need Vanya.” He looked into Klaus’s eyes. “We have each other. That’s enough.”

Which, fuck.

Obviously was really messed up. Harold, in general, was really messed up.

But…

Klaus had always been a sap for a bad boy, and even more of a sap for romantic speeches combined with free drugs. The very small part of him that had found Harold hot when they first met (very small, really, miniscule, just very persuasive) made itself quietly known, and he shifted closer to Harold and kissed him on the lips.

Harold made a soft, sweet noise. Klaus had forgotten how he reacted to being kissed—it had been almost a week, after all. And all week long, Harold had been dominating, pushing Klaus around and hitting and kicking him and tying him up and acting like he knew what was best. But when they’d first met, and Klaus had kissed him up against a dumpster, he’d been stunned, and he’d let Klaus pull him around and kiss him and, later at night, do what he pleased. Klaus remembered how in bed, he’d grabbed Harold’s hips, pulled him in tight and close, and he started to reach out…

And remembered that his wrists were tied, which.

Harold rolled on top of him and began to nip at his neck, but the mood was ruined. Klaus kneed at his thigh. “Harold.”

“Yes?”

Klaus sighed. “…get me breakfast.”

Harold actually grinned. “Sir yes sir!”

He practically leapt off the bed to obey.

* * *

 

It was Harold’s idea that they eat outside. Surprisingly, it was not so much breakfast time as Klaus had thought—that was because Harold had apparently drugged him to sleep for hours in the middle of the day. It was only the early evening, and the sun had just gone down. So it was dinnertime instead, and Harold wanted to have a picnic by the lake.

The lake. It was maybe fifteen minutes’ walk from the cabin, because yes, they were currently in a cabin in the middle of the forest. Harold said this was why he felt it was fine for Klaus to go outside. Here, no one was around to notice that he was tied up, and no one would report back to the Umbrella Academy that they were minus a brother.

“It’s like at first you thought we were totally incompetent, and now you think we’re a special mission force with the government or something,” Klaus complained. “Calm down. We’re not the FBI.”

Harold snorted. “Obviously you’re not. Your siblings though?”

“Hey.” Klaus kicked a pebble at him. When Harold looked over, he sniffed dramatically. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“Hey, it’s okay. As far as I’m concerned, a little ineptness is a great thing in a captive.”

“Are we joking about this now? I feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to joke about this.”

“Come on, Klaus. It’s kind of funny.”

“It’s like… it’s not gallows humor when you’re the executioner.”

“That implies that you think I’m going to kill you.”

“Well, you did take me out into the middle of the woods, and we’re going to a lake. _Great_ place to hide a body.” Klaus shivered. He wondered how many ghosts there would be around here if not for the truly stellar drugs he was on. “Did I mention how much I love you?”

Harold probably didn’t follow his train of thought, but still smiled smugly. Cocky asshole.

Actually, the drugs seemed to be wearing off ever so slightly. Klaus glimpsed a shadow by his side. The shape seemed more or less human, but beyond that, he couldn’t tell much. He sighed. He’d have to wait until later, and hope it wasn’t Harold’s dad. The old man was a pain in the ass.

When they arrived at the lake, Harold took out two bottles of water and some sandwiches. Boring, but not bad. Klaus sat down on the dock, and Harold sat down next to him, and they ate. Fortunately Klaus’s hands were tied in front of him.

“Do you think they’ll kill me if they find us?” Harold asked.

“Who?”

“Bigfoot. No,” Harold said when he saw Klaus peering over his shoulder, “your family. Obviously.”

Klaus swallowed contemplatively. “Being honest, we’ve killed a lot of people.”

“We?”

“I haven’t killed that many.”

“That _many_?”

Klaus took another bite of his sandwich. “This conversation isn’t really date material.”

“So this is a date.”

“I don’t know. You did kidnap me, but.” Klaus shrugged. “What would I know? I haven’t been on many dates. Seemed like you were going for it, with the picnic basket and everything. But again, what would I know? I’m just a druggie who uses people for sex and then dumps their asses.”

“I bet I’m your most long-term relationship.”

“I once stayed with a guy for three weeks.”

“Well, I’ll get there.”

Silence, for a moment.

“I don’t really care if they kill me,” Harold said. “I really don’t.” He frowned down at his sandwich. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I should care, right? I have a woodshop, and a nice house. I have a life that I built for myself. Do you know how I felt when I left it behind? When I drove away?”

“How did you feel?”

“I felt happy.” Harold threw his arms out. “Like-like everything in my life had already been an illusion. Like I’m finally letting the nonessentials just, drop away. And what’s left is this. Even if I have to run for my life forever, even if this gets me killed, I feel free. I mean, as long as they don’t send me back to prison, I really just don’t care anymore.”

“I know the feeling,” Klaus said.

Yeah.

He’d had that feeling running away from home. And it had felt like running, even though no one had really tried to stop him. All the rules of the Academy, all of Reginald’s expectations, all of the training, the missions, the duties, had all dropped away from him like the ground under a rising albatross. He’d been weightless. He’d felt terrified, and at the same time, so so good.

And he’d felt that way even before then, and many times after then, when he took drugs. The feeling of opiates kicking into his bloodstream. The ghosts fading away like shadows in the sun. And with them, his emotions. No more fear. No more pain, anger, inadequacy. The feeling of nothing, of having and feeling and being nothing— _that_ was truly addictive.

Harold was blathering on about something as Klaus got to his feet and walked to the edge of the talk. His voice faded away behind Klaus as Klaus jumped off and into the water.

Cold.

He kept his eyes open. The surface above was a rippling night sky, and the deeper he looked, the darker it looked. He wriggled his toes. Harold hadn’t given him shoes for this little outing, only pants and a hoodie, which floated around him, loose on his skin.

(Someone was shouting above him.)

Water, a personal version of nothing. He was weightless. No… he was starting to sink, but the air in his lungs kept him up. That was the only real feeling, the burn of oxygen slowly becoming carbon dioxide, starting to strain at his lungs. Sooner or later he’d have to release his breath, make the decision of whether to breathe in the water or not.

But when that was the only decision one had to make, nothing else mattered anymore. This, this was true nothing. That delicious, elusive taste of freedom.

Then a body hit the water next to him. It was Harold. Harold grabbing hold of him, trying to drag him up. He frowned at Harold, who didn’t understand what he was trying to do here, who just _had_ to interrupt.  There were far more bubbles escaping Harold’s mouth than his. Then Harold was grabbing at his hands, tugging and… the tape separated before Klaus even realized Harold had drawn a knife.

The knife made Klaus nervous, though. He kicked and paddled and hit the surface with a gasp. Air tasted sweet. He’d been down longer than he thought.

“Klaus, are you trying to fucking _kill yourself_?”

Harold sounded upset.

Klaus sighed. “Come on, Harold. I can hold my breath longer than that.”

“Yeah, but how were you going to get back onto the dock. Your fucking hands were tied!”

“Well, that wasn’t my fault.” Klaus eased into a back float. “I love night swimming.”

On the dock, the shadow had resolved itself into a familiar figure. Ben. Arms crossed. He called out, “I hate siding with Harold, but _that_ was stupid.”

“I love you too,” Klaus called back.

“Now is _not_ the time for that,” Harold seethed. “Come on. Let’s get out of the water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now officially a Harold/Klaus fluff fic where they retire to the cabin in the woods and live happily ever after. It was a long and twisty road, guys, but we finally reached it. The happy ending.  
> Jk, jk.  
> So this chapter was once going to be fused with what will now be probably... chapter fourteen. Chapter thirteen will be something a little bit different. And hopefully this will all make the pacing work a bit better. But overall life is much easier when you don't try to smash three chapters' content into one. Unfortunately this does mean that we won't be getting Harold's POV for a while so I hope y'all can put up with that.  
> There's a lot I could ramble about in this chapter but I think I'll exercise some self control and let y'all draw your own conclusions. See y'all next chapter! Let's hope I can keep writing at a reasonable speed. :)


	13. Chapter 13

“Vanya still hasn’t contacted you?”

Allison sighed and put down the magazine she’d been half-heartedly reading. “Not in the past ten minutes since you last asked me, no.”

Five, who had just phased into existence in front of her, clenched his fist. “I should never have let her leave the house without making that phone call. Damn it!” He sat down next to Allison, a ball of nervous energy. “Why do we always let Vanya get away with everything?”

That was pretty bold coming from a guy who hadn’t seen Vanya or the rest of the family for fifty years. Allison shook her head. “We haven’t exactly been easy on her, Five. That book… it caused a lot of hurt feelings. You’ve seen what Diego’s like. Vanya doesn’t get away with much more than any of us.”

“That’s beside the point,” Five snapped. “It’s already past noon and she still hasn’t gotten back to us. She said she would call him last night.”

“Maybe he didn’t answer.”

“She would have spoken to him by now.” Five stood up and began to pace. “What if she’s working with him? Maybe she’s warned him to get out of town, and we’ll never be able to find him. I trusted her because she didn’t have any powers. Stupid.”

“I don’t think Vanya’s out there plotting with her boyfriend to cause the apocalypse,” Allison said drily. “Probably she just hasn’t been able to get in contact with him yet.”

Five stood still in front of her. His eyes were red. She wondered if he’d gotten any sleep last night. “You don’t understand the stakes, do you? Not even now. This is the end of the world I’m talking about. We don’t have time for her to procrastinate because she feels awkward talking to some boy.”

Allison reached out to squeeze his shoulder but he flinched away. After a moment he said, “I’m going to call her.”

“Didn’t you call her just half an hour ago?” No one had picked up.

Five growled. “Fine, then, I’m visiting her apartment. I’ll be back.”

He blinked out of the room, leaving Allison alone again. She opened up the magazine again, but she couldn’t even remember which articles she’d read. Showed where her focus was at. She put the magazine down and went looking for Luther.

She found him in the kitchen with Diego. Diego had come back after work last night and slept over in his old room. What with Klaus missing, an approaching apocalypse, and Vanya going out to interrogate a suspect, he’d said it was better if they stuck together. Would have been better if Vanya had stayed too, he’d said, but that was Vanya, always going off and doing whatever she wanted.

“Anything new?” she asked. God, she probably sounded like Five.

“No,” Luther said. “Unless you count learning about just how bad Diego’s cooking skills are.”

Diego snorted.

“Did you know he _still_ eats raw eggs? The other night I saw him just crack one into his mouth. Apparently this is something he does regularly, and this is the first time he’s been in a kitchen in…”

“Are you telling me you _do_ know how to cook?  Haven’t you spent the past four years eating space food?”

“Yeah, which was probably more trustworthy than whatever you’d make,” Luther retorted.

“Guys. Yes, Luther, I meant apart from Diego’s eating habits.” Though, raw eggs? Allison grimaced. “Five’s getting restless.”

“You think?”

“Two days to the apocalypse,” Diego said. “I’d be restless too.”

“You are restless,” Luther said. “You’ve been tossing knives this whole time.”

Diego unsheathed a knife with a shrug. “Well, that’s just practice. Seriously, though, Vanya will be fine. She might not be the most experienced Umbrella Academy graduate, but she sat through all the lessons just like us. Now she’s interrogating some civilian weed. Who cares?”

“No one said she wouldn’t be fine,” Allison said.

Diego gave her a sharp look. “Exactly.”

Five appeared, standing on top of the counter. He dropped into a seated position. “She’s not in her apartment. Did she call while I was gone?”

“No,” Diego said, “she did not call in the past three minutes. Quit worrying. You’re making me nervous.”

Five slammed a knife into the countertop. Diego blinked. “Did you steal my…”

“Vanya knows this is urgent. If she’s not contacted us yet, something must have happened. And we need to find out what.” Five’s teeth were gritted.

They all exchanged looks. Well, he could be right. Vanya was kind of a wild card, but even so, it wasn’t like her to just leave them on the hook for hours and hours. She would want all of this solved as much as them. Klaus was her brother too; besides, she’d surely want to clear Leonard’s name, even if they weren’t technically dating yet. She’d had some strong opinions last night. Surely she’d want to back them up.

“Okay,” Allison said. “So Vanya isn’t at her apartment. And you checked the music hall earlier, right?”

“Yes. And she was out. Meaning she’s probably following the lead we gave her.”

“Okay,” Allison repeated. “So she might be with Leonard. And even if she’s not…” She raised her eyebrows. “…it seems about time for us to have a look at his house and see if he’s hiding anything.”

“Weren’t you the one saying we should let Vanya handle things?” Luther said.

“She’s had her chance. Klaus is in danger. We need to find him.” Allison crossed her arms. Besides, she’d been wanting to do some reconnaissance on Leonard since meeting him. Breaking into his house would only be returning the favor after he broke into Vanya’s, in her opinion. She’d barely kept herself from doing it before, focusing on how upset Vanya would be about it—but now, the time for courtesy had passed.

Five nodded and tucked away his knife. Diego and Luther seemed game, too. So Allison took out her phone and started googling.

* * *

 

The house looked oppressively normal. Perfect for normal Leonard Peabody, but it still gave Allison the creeps. They didn’t bother to knock. There was no car around, and even if Leonard was home, they didn’t necessarily want to give him warning.

Instead, Luther marched up to the door, drew a leg up, and kicked it in.

As it swung open, half detached from its hinges, Five remarked, “You know I could have just—”

“Teleported into uncharted territory? Not on my watch.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Forty-five years without an overprotective babysitter. I didn’t appreciate it enough.”

Diego strode into the house, a knife in each hand. Allison followed behind him, scanning the room for Leonard. No luck, but the inside of the house felt just as Leonard as the outside. The innocuous decorations, perfectly normal. Floral-patterned sofa and cream-colored draperies. The only oddity was the number of small carved figures scattered around the living room and dining room, sitting on bookshelves and other spare surfaces. Unobtrusive, but the mark of an artist. And still all so harmless.

“The guy likes ducks,” Luther remarked, picking one of the pieces up.

Five busted open a door near the stairs only to discover a bathroom. No deep secrets there, or in the kitchen. Then they headed upstairs, leaving Diego behind to play lookout. Pity Klaus was missing. Usually that was his job.

Then again, if Klaus were here, all of this would be unnecessary.

They found Vanya upstairs in the bedroom. She was asleep. Apparently unharmed except for a large bruise forming on her forehead; still, Allison’s heart skipped a beat before Five checked her pulse and reported that it was steady. Only she didn’t wake up when they shook her and said her name.

Allison frowned. She’d been trying to break the habit, but “I heard a rumor you woke up and were fine.”

Vanya’s eyes blinked open. She stared up at them. “I’m… where’s Klaus?”

Five, Allison, and Luther exchanged looks. Luther spoke for them. “Klaus is still missing. Was he here?” No point in asking if she’d spoken to Harold—clearly something had gone on there, with her on his bed with a bump on her head.

“Yeah,” Vanya said. She was a little out of breath. “Yeah, he was here.” She sat up. “ _Shit_.”

“Vanya?”

“Fuck, he’s gone. Did you—is he here? Did you catch him?”

“We just got here. Looking for you, sort of, or for Leonard.”

“Fuck, he’s taken Klaus and left. Shit, shit, shit…” Vanya curled up into a ball. Then, when Allison put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, she abruptly stood up. “We need to find them.”

* * *

 

They regrouped downstairs in the living room. Vanya squeezed between Allison and Luther on the couch, while Five and Diego hovered, both looking like they might pull a knife or jump out the window at the slightest provocation.

“He had Klaus tied up on his bed,” Vanya said. “Klaus told me he’d been keeping him here for the past… well, since they first met up, I guess. Leonard forced him to go through withdrawal because he has some kind of obsession with Klaus meeting his true potential or something. It was fucked up. He acted like he really had Klaus’s good in mind… Anyways, he’d caught me trying to help Klaus and tied me up too. I told him you guys would come for us, and we fought. I was really angry. You know I haven’t been able to find my pills lately.” Her eyes widened. “Oh yeah. He also said he’d stolen my pills.”

“Maybe that’s why he was in your house,” Allison said. She frowned. “Why would he steal your pills?” Just to get Vanya off her balance, mess with her brain? It was the kind of thing a stalker might do, of course.

“He had a…” Vanya rubbed her head. “Just a second. I think we left it upstairs.”

She headed upstairs. Luther followed her with a concerned look. Five perched on a small table.

Allison said, “We shouldn’t have let her face Leonard alone. She got hurt. And now Klaus is missing again.” And he’d been in the hands of a delusional stalker all fucking week. Shit.

“Hey, Vanya isn’t done. She might know something about,” Diego began.

Five cut him off. “Allison is right. We underestimated him. That said, she also was the person to suggest letting Vanya handle it in the first place, so if the world ends…” He shrugged.

Allison felt hurt; she’d been trying to keep things civil in the family, to let Vanya have some independence. But she didn’t defend herself. Arguing in this family never got anywhere. It just went round and around in circles with the stress level rising higher and higher.

Vanya was hurt, and Klaus was still missing, and all they could do now was try to rectify the latter.

 When Vanya came back downstairs, Luther again trailing behind her, she was carrying a notebook. “Leonard showed me this. Apparently he stole it from Klaus. Or Klaus threw it out and he looted it, or something. It’s from Dad. It’s notes he took on me as a kid. They go back a ways.”

Allison pursed her lips. “Vanya…” She couldn’t think of what it would be like for herself to come upon Reginald’s notes on her performance in various areas. All the disappointment and the occasional triumph was already burned into her brain and into all their old surveillance footage—she didn’t need it recorded elsewhere, didn’t need another reminder. For Vanya, whose sense of self worth had been absolutely bludgeoned by those old days, reading through Reginald’s disappointment in her must have been utterly crushing.

“I…” Vanya bit her lip. “I have powers.”

Diego looked down at her sharply. “You have what?”

“I have powers,” Vanya said. “It’s here in the book. Dad wrote all about it. But when I was a kid they were too dangerous, so he somehow made me forget about them, and he started giving me the pills to suppress them. All these years he said I was a failure, but he made me fail all along.” She flipped the book open, then closed it again. “It’s—anyways, Leonard found the notebook, and he decided he wanted to help me like Klaus. To get off the pills. So he took them.”

Luther held out a hand. “Let me see that.”

Vanya pulled the notebook close to her chest. “Why do you want it?”

“This is important to the whole family. If you really do have powers, we need to know what they are and how they’re likely to manifest. We should all read it.”

“Even I haven’t read it yet.”

“You shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

“Yes, well…”

“If you’ll excuse the interruption,” Five said pointedly, “I think we have bigger things to worry about. Vanya having powers is an interesting development, but there’s still an apocalypse coming. And Klaus is still missing. Vanya, when Leonard left, did he seem like he was coming back? Did he give any indication of where he was going?”

Vanya shook her head.

“Well,” Five said. “Fuck. Guess we’re doomed.”

“There’s nothing else on Leonard on the internet,” Allison said despairingly. “No other residences, no relatives, no details of his past. I couldn’t even find the woodshop.”

“Wait,” Vanya said, “there is one thing. Not from Leonard. But Klaus said Leonard was using a fake name, and that his real name was Harold Jenkins. Maybe that would help.”

Allison took her phone out. “Well, it’s a start.”

The name “Harold Jenkins” turned up a lot more results than “Leonard Peabody”. But most of them seemed to be about completely different people—Harold Jenkins was just a more common name. Allison frowned at the screen as she opened link after link, trying to tune out the talking in the background.

“You’re sure your boyfriend didn’t say anything that might help us?”

“Not my boyfriend. If he ever was, he certainly wouldn’t be anymore. And no.”

“Vanya isn’t trained for investigation,” Diego said. “Even if he said something, you think she’d pick up on it?”

“I’m not dumb. Just because I don’t—because I didn’t have powers like you guys, doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“Well, you were pretty useless today. You had Klaus in your fucking line of vision, on familiar territory, and you let your boyfriend kidnap him again.”

Was it just Allison, or was the floor trembling slightly? Allison looked up and saw the pictures on the wall wobbling.

“Not,” Vanya said through gritted teeth, “my boyfriend.”

The floor seemed to be warping in waves directly emanating away from her. Even the air seemed to be forming something like heat waves, wobbling through the air. Pressure on the ears.

Allison glanced at Luther. Luther’s fists clenched; Allison cleared her throat. “Vanya, I think you might need to calm down.”

“What, I’m not allowed to get angry? Is that a thing only superheroes can do too?”

“I think your powers are reacting to your emotions,” Allison said gently. “And they’re getting a little out of hand.”

Vanya startled, and the pressure in the room burst with a pop.

There was a moment’s silence.

Five was looking pensive. He said, “Diego, stop inciting Vanya. She’s not to blame for her boyfriend—not her boyfriend,” he amended, “kidnapping Klaus. I should apologize to Allison, too. This isn’t her fault either.”

Allison laughed. Five, apologize to anyone? “Go ahead and apologize then.”

“I’m sorry,” Five said. “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me.”

He bowed his head. “I got so caught up in pursuing one clue that I lost track of the bigger picture. My brother went missing on the eve of the apocalypse and I didn’t even notice, even though I came back here to save you. All of you.” He repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Luther stood up and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not your responsibility to protect us, you know.”

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

“No. It’s mine. I’m Number One, remember? I should have…”

“Cut the crap, Luther,” Diego said loudly. “You’re not the Messiah. If anyone, I should have tracked this guy down sooner. I’m the one who spoke to the guy in the bar, I had all the information. For the past ten years I’ve spent my time saving people, but this time I didn’t even do anything. And I…” His voice wavered. “I lost Klaus.”

Vanya said. “It’s not your fault. I should have…”

Allison coughed. “Uh, guys? Maybe instead of feeling guilty about Klaus being missing, we should focus on trying to find him. Okay?”

A reluctant murmur of agreement. And this time, as she focused on searching through Google results, she had some peace and quiet to do it in.

And she found something quite useful.

“Okay, these records seem to actually be about Harold. Property records for the family. Most of his family is dead, but his grandmother is still alive…”

“Old lady,” Luther remarked.

“…and she owns a cabin in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t live there, she’s in a nursing home. Might be a good place for someone to hide out if they needed to get away from civilization.”

“Where is it?” Diego asked.

“Several hours away,” Allison said. “But we don’t have a better lead. We could scour the town, check the motels, but otherwise I think this is a pretty good bet.”

In the end they decided to split up. Luther and Five would keep investigating in town. Diego and Allison would head out to the cabin. Either pair should reasonably be able to face down one man with no superpowers, and it was better to check all possibilities. Diego would also inform his friends on the police force to keep an eye out, just in case.

 “Okay,” Vanya said, “I’ll go with Luther and Five.”

“No,” Luther said. “Bad idea. This could be violent.”

“If anyone stands a chance of talking Harold down, it’s me.”

“You couldn’t before,” Luther pointed out. “And frankly, he might decide to target you again if he gets the chance. It’s too dangerous.”

“Klaus is my brother too. I can’t just step back and let you handle things.”

Allison said, “Luther is right, Vanya. You don’t have the training.”

“But I do have powers. We know I do.”

“But you can’t control them,” Diego said. “You’re a liability.”

Vanya smiled a nasty smile. “We’ve figured out they’re correlated to anger. I can control that much.”

Five said, “You should go with Diego and Allison.”

Vanya cast him a look. “What, do you think that’s less dangerous?”

“I think your powers are a yet-unquantifiable factor in a situation that supposedly leads to the apocalypse,” Five said. “We can’t leave you alone, and it’s probably safer for you to be out in the middle of the forest than in a populated city. We don’t know how powerful your powers are going to be.”

“I’m not going to blow up the world,” Vanya said.

Five looked grave. “I know. But… just be careful. We all had trouble controlling ourselves in the beginning.”

“It’s a scary time,” Allison agreed. She looked at Five. Did he honestly think they needed to keep an eye on Vanya?

He looked back at her steadily. That was a definite yes.

“Okay, I’ll go with Diego and Allison. And I’ll be careful.” Vanya sighed. “…if I just had my damn meds…”

“Well, if we find Harold, we find the meds. Probably,” Diego said. “But enough talk. We need to go.”

They drove back to the mansion, and from there they took different cars in different directions, hoping that at least one group would get lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on kind of a roll right now, I think. We'll see how long it lasts... Right now it's like two AM or something and there are probably good reasons not to post this chapter until later but I did finish the next one so I thought I might as well post a chapter while the weekend's still going.  
> It being so late at night, I'm at a loss as to what to say. Vanya. Allison. Five. Luther. Diego. So many ppl in this chapter. I actually hate writing scenes with this many ppl. which may or may not be the reason I've had them split into teams, but also, realistically I don't think they'd want to all go hours away in order to follow an uncertain lead when Harold and Klaus might well still be in town. Is the cabin really hours away? I don't remember. I feel like the show was fuzzy on this point.  
> Ooooh welllll.


	14. Chapter 14

Harold climbed back onto the dock before Klaus did. Klaus, despite having nearly drowned, did not seem to be at all shaken. There was a wide smile on his face, though it was not entirely steady, and he had eased into a casual back float.

He could probably have set off swimming across the lake, and Harold would have had a hard time stopping him or catching him, especially in the dark. Though he might not have been able to swim far enough to find another house. The cabin, and this dock near it, were quite secluded. On all his visits here, Harold had never been disturbed by an unwanted guest.

At any rate, none of that mattered. Klaus was not attempting a back-stroke, but only floating. Harold called down, “Klaus, hurry up!” It was far too cold for night swimming.

“I thought you were all about freedom now,” Klaus called back. But after a long moment, he sighed and climbed back onto the dock as well.

They were both dripping wet.

Harold squeezed Klaus’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. He wanted to read something there about Klaus’s mood, or at least his intentions. Had he intended to drown himself? Surely he wouldn’t be so calm now if that were the case. He was shivering a little now, but that might be only because of the temperature of the lake water. And his eyes gave no real hint to anything. He looked mostly just amused and a little on edge.

He knocked Harold’s hand off him and began to wring out his short curls. “Ah, nothing like a bath.”

“We’ll have to check your stitches,” Harold said, deciding to file the matter of Klaus’s possible instability aside for later. “They weren’t supposed to get wet for another couple days. Now you’ve probably infected them. This lake—”

“You’re the one who stabbed me,” Klaus said. “No need to get touchy.”

Harold paused. “I’m sorry about that. If you stopped fighting me, I’d never hurt you. You know that.”

Klaus laughed. It was a full body laugh, adding to the shivers racking his body. He glanced off to the side as if making eye contact with someone, letting them in on a private joke that Harold wasn’t a part of.

“Klaus?”

“Yeah,” Klaus said. “Yeah. Of course.”

He picked up the remainder of his sandwich and finished it in two bites.

Harold said, “Let’s go back to the house. We need to dry off. Didn’t think I’d need towels for this expedition. Guess I should have been better prepared, huh?” He chuckled.

“For shame, good sir. I expect my beau to be prepared for all eventualities,” Klaus said. He picked up the picnic basket. “Yeah, it’s fucking freezing. Let’s go back.”

Harold kept a close eye on Klaus as they walked. Klaus was antsy, more so than when they had set out; there could be any number of reasons for that. Harold had clumsily reminded him of their fight the other day, for one thing. There was the altercation in the water, for another. And then there was the fact that he kept glancing off to the side, looking at nothing, and occasionally muttering half a conversation under his breath. The pill Harold gave him so much earlier in the day must have worn off by now. It was a good thing Harold still had almost a whole bottle.

He’d wean Klaus off it eventually, of course. But they could wait a while for that. Now that they were on good terms for once, Harold was wondering if perhaps he should have started them off like this to begin with. No, doubtless he should have. Forcing Klaus into withdrawal immediately had made him antagonistic. He should have built up their relationship first, and then… but it was pointless thinking about what-ifs. Harold would make good on his mistakes. That was what mattered.

When they got to the house, Klaus’s eyes flickered to the car, and Harold wondered if this would be it, the moment when Klaus would bolt again. He touched Klaus’s back reassuringly. Like trying to calm a horse, or a dog. Klaus glanced back at him, smiled, and went into the house. They’d left the door unlocked, but Harold locked it up behind them, and fastened the bolt.

 At home, he’d wished the door would lock on the outside. Would have made keeping Klaus inside a lot easier. But here, there was indeed an enemy to keep out: the Hargreeves, if they ever figured out he and Klaus were staying here. It would be wise for them not to stay very long, and in the meantime, to keep the house secure against intruders.

Currently, though, the greatest threat that the house was facing was mildew. Copious amounts of water were dripping off Klaus and Harold’s clothes and onto the wooden floorboards. Harold took off his shoes and socks and left them at the door—Klaus was shoeless, as he had been the whole picnic, Harold not having found any shoes to fit him yet. He ran a hand over his hair, spraying water into the living room.

Klaus, meanwhile, had sunk onto a comfy armchair. Harold cleared his throat. “You’re going to ruin that cushion, you know.”

“Sue me,” Klaus retorted. When Harold gave him a dirty look, he said, “Hey, it’s only water.”

“Lake water, and filthy. We’re going to need to take a shower.”

“We? _A_ shower?” Klaus raised his eyebrows. “Mm, Harold, don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”

Harold flushed. Trust Klaus to read into things like that. Fuck him, honestly—he’d acted like a perfect gentleman even when bathing Klaus with his own hands, which had been the sort of trial to make lesser men quake. He took a deep breath, and sighed. He’d probably have to tie Klaus up again and shower himself, and then… As he thought it through, he took off his shirt. Completely soaked, and with dirty water too. He wondered if it could be saved in the wash or if it was ruined. They might not even have time to wash clothes before heading out again, though he hadn’t yet planned where they were going next.

Klaus was eyeing him.

Harold started to cross his arms over his chest (old instinct of modesty that he’d tried for so long to grow out of—it wasn’t as if it would cover all of his scars anyhow, and he had nothing to be ashamed of, he’d tried to convince himself of that), then forced himself to put his hands on his hips instead. “See something you like?”

Klaus said to the air beside him, “Whatever. Your type is boring anyway.” He snorted at something, then refocused on Harold, who was growing more and more uncomfortable. “Last time we fucked, you kept your clothes on. Kind of kinky.”

“ _Last_ time?”

Klaus’s tongue darted out from between his lips. He rose from the armchair and, still dripping, draped his arms around Harold’s neck. The wet fabric of the shirt chilled Harold’s chest. But when their mouths came together, his tongue was still warm.

“I guess we can take _a_ shower,” Klaus murmured in his ear.

Oh. Well, all right then.

* * *

 

Afterwards Klaus’s neck was bleeding slightly. Not that Harold had so much as touched it—it was the strenuous exercise that had reopened the wound. Harold wiped the blood off tenderly, and replaced the bandage. Other than that there wasn’t much to do about it except wait for it to clot.

He himself had his own bandages of honor from the exercise. He was pretty sure he was going to get bruises on his hips and, yes, his own neck as well. Klaus’s vengeance.

They sat down on the sofa in the living room, still naked, sharing body heat. Naughty to sit around the house naked, especially in Grandmother’s house—but there was no one around to see them, what did it matter? It made Harold feel like a kid to break a rule like that, like a teenager having the first love he’d never had a chance to experience. Klaus made him feel things he was pretty sure he’d never felt before.

The lights were low; it was far past midnight. Harold thought distantly that it was still the same day that he had taken off work to stay home with Klaus and make sure the drugs had no bad effects on him. Less than twenty-four hours ago he’d still thought himself half in love with Vanya. Now that seemed impossible.

Klaus was heavy for such a skinny man. Harold had noticed this earlier, carrying him down to the car and then into the cabin, and he noticed it now, with Klaus leaning on his side, head rested on his shoulder. He was also very touchy-feely, when he wasn’t angry. It was adorable.

Really Harold had to wonder that his longest relationship had been only three weeks. Well, not really—it was the drugs, the alcohol, the chronic lack of reliability, the boatload of issues—it was all in _Extra Ordinary_ and Harold knew it all by heart. But what a waste. Although, of course, it wasn’t really wasted. All that softness Klaus had inside of him, all that potential, had really been saved up, had been waiting. For what? Well, for someone like Harold.

He felt Klaus exhale on his neck in a long, shaking sigh, and didn’t realize for a moment that it wasn’t an expression of satisfaction. “Harold.”

“Yeah?”

“I need, I need…” Klaus trailed off.

Harold kissed him. “What do you need, Klaus?”

“What do you have?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The drugs. I…” Klaus swallowed. “I need something.”

“Withdrawal already?”

Klaus laughed breathily. “Not exactly, but close enough. I’m just not on best terms with your dad, honey, and I’d rather not speak with him.”

Ah. Harold got up, shrugging Klaus off him. “Just a second.”

But Klaus trailed after him as he rummaged through the bag he’d brought here, searching for the pills. Ah. Here they were. “Courtesy of Vanya,” he said, flourishing the bottle. “Guess I’m your daddy now.” When Klaus gave him a very weirded out look, he said, “Remember? You said you wished your dad had given you pills like Vanya in the first place…. Come on. It was a joke. Seriously, you don’t remember?”

“Ha ha,” Klaus said flatly. He sat back down on the couch.

Harold went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He almost put the pills straight into it to dissolve, then decided against it. Klaus was cooperating. He’d probably get a thrill out of swallowing the stuff. The thought of it made him feel a little squeamish but hey, at least he was being honest.

Klaus would get sober when he wanted to.

He handed Klaus the glass when he got back, and the four pills he’d been giving him as his dosage. Klaus closed his fingers on the pills tightly. He stared down at his closed fist, then up and across the room.

“Is it my dad?” Harold asked gently.

“It’s just Ben.”

“Good.” Harold put his hands on Klaus’s shoulders. “Calm down, huh? Ben’s a friend. He’s your brother.”

“Yeah. He…” Klaus shivered. It couldn’t be from the cold now; they’d warmed up. Then he opened his mouth and popped the pills in. Harold watched his throat work as he swallowed them one by one, then washed them down with the water. When he was done, he dropped the cup. Water spilled onto the floorboards, and Harold shook his head. He’d had to dry them so much already… But no need to start an argument. He fetched a towel from the kitchen and cleaned up.

“I can’t see Ben,” Klaus said.

“Did he leave?”

“No… I can still see him now.”

“You just said you can’t see him.”

“He’s fading,” Klaus said. He dropped onto the ground to crouch next to Harold. “I can’t see him when I take these pills. I don’t know what’s in them. Usually no matter what, I can still see him.”

“Strong stuff.” Harold stood, folding the towel. He really had to figure out if they were staying here long enough to do laundry. “Guess Reginald knew what he was doing.”

 “Yeah, he must have. It’s creepy, though.” Klaus giggled. “You’d think I’d like it. If Ben wasn’t fucking dead I’d like it.”

His pupils were beginning to dilate. Harold kissed him. Rubbed his back.

Led him to the bedroom.

“We need to get some new stuff,” Klaus said blearily. “Something different. I like this, but it’s not… I need Ben here.”

“Right now?” Harold asked as he pushed Klaus onto the bed.

Klaus laughed again. “No, not right now…” He pulled Harold onto the bed beside him. “He’s seen worse, though. Once when I was fucking three guys at once…”

“I don’t really want to hear about it.” Harold tried to stop himself from speculating on how that would be physically possible.

“Oh, the stalker doesn’t want to know everything?”

“I’m not a stalker.”

Klaus’s hands ran down Harold’s spine. They barely paused at the scars. “We’re getting off topic, Harold.”

“Oh, we had a topic?”

“You need to get me something different. I don’t like it when I can’t see Ben.”

Harold sighed. “I can’t do that, sweetheart.” He went to kiss Klaus, and when Klaus dodged, he growled. “Come on. I can’t help it. I don’t even know where to get that stuff—and anyways, it’s not good for you. The stuff it does to your body, your brain… I’m not going to let you keep hurting yourself.”

“It doesn’t hurt me. I’ve been fucking fine.”

“It does. This is the best option we have until you get clean,” Harold said. “And don’t worry, we have plenty of it. If we run out, I’ll figure out how to get it refilled.”

“I’m telling you I don’t want it. Just get me some fucking heroin, or, or cocaine, or—”

“Shut _up_!”

He didn’t realize he’d gone to hit Klaus until his wrist hit Klaus’s arm, thrown up in front of his face at the last moment. He stilled. “I’m sorry. I’m just… it’s been a long day.”

Klaus stared up at him.

“I’m glad you stopped me.”

Klaus closed his eyes. When Harold kissed him, he allowed it. But he wasn’t very responsive, and eventually Harold gave up and lay still next to him.

Klaus whispered, “I don’t like it when I can’t see Ben.”

“Shh. Don’t worry. You don’t need him. All we need is each other, remember?”

Klaus was silent. But he snuggled up against Harold, and Harold relaxed into his arms.

* * *

 

Klaus didn’t sleep.

He’d slept earlier, after all, and while these pills made him feel a little out of it, they didn’t exactly make him feel sleepy.

They were starting to take more of an effect now, as he lay in bed next to Harold, listening to the man’s quiet breathing. In, out. In, out. Rhythmic, calm. Like Klaus was now calm.

He’d been overly emotional earlier. The pills hadn’t really hit his system yet. He’d freaked out.

Which had been stupid. With drug-born clarity, he could see that all he’d done was make Harold mad at him. A dumb move when he’d been doing his best all day to keep the peace between them.

He’d been considering that it might not be so bad, staying with Harold. Fighting Harold was hard. Exhausting, draining, and mostly futile so far. And there really were things about Harold that were nice. The sex wasn’t bad. Sure, it wasn’t the best sex he’d ever had, but he had a very high bar in that regard, so… it wasn’t bad, anyhow, especially since he’d been more awake today than the first time, more able to appreciate it. Also, Harold made good food. This had been true all week long. He liked making food for Klaus, liked taking care of Klaus more than any sane human being would.

All that and drugs too. It had been a good bargain.

Would have been almost perfect if not for the fact that the pills made him stop seeing Ben.

Lying awake, he thought back to a brain-teaser he’d given himself once or twice in the past: _Would you give up seeing Ben if you could stop seeing ghosts altogether?_

Usually the answer was yes. He was a selfish bastard.

But…

He sat up slowly in bed, careful not to wake Harold. Harold had been asleep for the past half hour, maybe. That was long enough to fall into the deepest part of a sleep cycle, right? Fuck, Klaus didn’t remember. He’d never paid much attention to those kinds of classes, or any classes for that matter. Reginald had eventually given up on him.

He eased out of bed. When Harold didn’t stir, he figured he was in luck. Harold had said he was tired. Must have been the truth.

Free drugs, free food, someone who had once brought him roses. Fucking dream life, if Harold had meant it about not hurting Klaus if he didn’t try to run away. Or if Klaus were a little less attached to his freedom. But Harold told lies, and Klaus…

Klaus loved freedom enough to break it off with far nicer guys than him.

In the living room he found the bag Harold had brought from home. There were clothes in it. He put on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Then he raided the closet, where he found a number of old women’s jackets (none flamboyant enough to tempt him), a brown coat that seemed to be Harold’s, and, surprisingly enough, his own black coat with the fur on the sleeves and collar.

He felt slightly touched. Not enough to feel guilty.

Humming quietly, he opened the front door to find himself confronted with a figure dressed entirely in black, with a black mask on his face and a knife in one hand. He squealed—quietly, quietly— and wind-milled backwards for a moment, caught off balance. But of course after that moment he knew who it was, though it was still something of a surprise.

“Diego? What are you doing here?”

Diego stepped in quickly and quietly, followed by—this was a greater surprise—both Allison and Vanya.

“Wow, the whole team… well not quite the whole…” Klaus cut himself off when Diego grabbed him and gave him what was possibly the tightest hug of his life. “Oookay.”

He had to admit it was relaxing, feeling Diego’s arms around him, but surely this wasn’t the time or place for what quickly became a group hug when Vanya and then Allison joined in as well. Vanya’s voice sounded husky when she murmured in his ear, “Don’t disappear on me like that.”

“Not my fault,” he insisted. But he tried to smile at her, though the angle was terrible. He would have patted her on the back, but his arms were still pinned by Diego.

“I know,” Vanya said. “But I was really worried.”

“We were all worried,” Allison said.

“Seriously, Klaus,” Diego said. He slowly released Klaus, and the group hug dissolved. “Are you all right?”

“Lovely,” Klaus said. It was something close to true; with this level of whiplash he wasn’t quite sure how he was feeling. Was this relief? Panic? Hysteria? Whatever it was, it had him high enough that he wasn’t going to think too hard about it.

He swallowed and tried to focus. “Really, lovely, but we’re still in my kidnapper’s house, so maybe we should get going now? Have the reunion in the car? I assume you brought a car…”

“Klaus,” Diego said.

Klaus tugged at Vanya’s sleeve. When even she wouldn’t budge toward the door, he threw his arms out. “You guys are literally hindering my escape here!”

“That,” Diego said, “is because we aren’t escaping.”

“What?”

“No offense, Klaus,” Allison said, “and it’s great that you were on your way out, but with all four of us here, we don’t exactly need to run away from Harold Jenkins.”

Klaus considered this. It was true. Still didn’t mean he wanted to stick around.

“I have unfinished business with him,” Vanya said, settling on Harold’s couch.

“We have unfinished business with him,” Diego said. He cracked his knuckles. “This guy hurt our brother. You think we’re just going to leave without saying hi?”

Well, when he put it like that.

Feeling a little walled in, Klaus sat down next to Vanya. “All right then. Satisfy your egos, I guess. But please don’t kill him.” When Allison and Diego gave him sharp looks, he added, “I don’t want him haunting my ass.”

“Understood,” Diego said. “But short of that, I’m making no promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two thirds of this chapter are dedicated to that person who commented a while back saying "I wonder if Klaus will ever not be tied up in this relationship." Lols. It happened, briefly. But did it improve things? Hmmm.  
> I wonder if I should tag this fic with "Stockholm Syndrome" sometimes. Also, I sometimes wonder if the rating should be mature rather than teen. Things to ponder. I welcome opinions.  
> Anyways, if you direct your attention to the top of the page, you may notice that I now have a chapter count--currently 14/17. That's right, folks. I expect to finish this fic in three chapters. So if you wanna make any predictions about the ending, speak now I guess. ITS ALMOST OVER FOLKS. WE'RE COMING IN FOR A LANDING. CAN I LAND IT? WE WILL SEE.


	15. Chapter 15

Harold woke to the press of metal on his neck. One would expect a knife to be cold, but it wasn’t. It was just hard, and sharp, and uncomfortable, and somehow expected. When he opened his eyes to see the man glaring down at him, he didn’t find that surprising either.

He’d known the Hargreeves would come for him, after all. He’d thought he and Klaus could at least stay the night here, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“Sit up,” Diego said. Number Two. Not one of the Hargreeves that Harold had crushed on, nor one he had particularly idolized—but he’d idolized all of them in a way, and it was still a shot of adrenalin to see another one face to face. Diego Hargreeves, who had taken crime-fighting and justice more seriously, continued to pursue Reginald’s quest even though he’d left the Umbrella Academy behind in theory.

Harold could admire that Diego had achieved his full potential, in a way. Except that it made him cocky and superior and, clearly, a bit too willing to chase after Harold for nothing more than a well-meant felony, too caught up in his own savior complex to see the good intentions behind Harold’s deed.

Or, Harold thought, he might have caught this attitude from Allison, whom he now saw was standing on the other side of his bed.

“Sit up,” Diego repeated, impatient.

Harold sat up. “Ah. Good morning.” Though, looking out the window, it still looked to be night.

And glancing at his clock, it had only been about an hour since he managed to fall asleep. Damn. Couldn’t him being caught and all his plans being ruined have waited another few hours?

Allison cleared her throat. “I heard a rumor you didn’t try to hurt us or to run away.”

“Nice to see you too, Allison.”

“And you, Harold.” The way she pronounced his name, she clearly found it offensive. It took Harold a couple seconds to remember why—she’d met him as Leonard Peabody, that alias he’d created with only enough half-hearted effort to create one or two social media profiles.

A white lie, really.

Diego grabbed his shoulder and hauled him out of bed. He paused when he saw Harold was naked, and scowled even harder than before. "Get some clothes on. We’re going to the living room to have a conversation.”

“We can’t wait until the morning? Allison’s rumored me already—I’m not going anywhere.” He yawned and then winced as Diego’s grip tightened.

“No.”

Okay, then.

In the living room, Vanya and Klaus were sitting on the couch. (No Luther in sight, at least—one less person to worry about if Harold was going to try to make an escape.) Even though Harold had seen Vanya and Klaus lying next to each other earlier (had it really been just today? Time was moving at a crawl), it was still surreal to see them so close and so casual. Even though Harold had brought them both into his life at the same time, almost for the same reason, and even though he had always thought of the Hargreeves in tandem, still… they were so different, and so separate—even in Vanya’s book she admitted she’d never understood Klaus—and to see them present a united front was honestly weird.

Though, they weren’t quite united even now. For one thing, although they were both wearing black coats (morbid creatures), Klaus’s was his old fur-lined one, and Vanya’s was sleek and understated. For another, Klaus sat with his legs curled up, and Vanya with her feet solidly on the floor. And then the final difference—Klaus’s gaze skittered away from Harold a moment after their eyes met, while Vanya stared at him with cool, constant fury.

“Hi Leonard. I warned you.”

Was it just him, or were Vanya’s eyes looking a little blue? Maybe it was the lighting.

“You did,” Harold admitted with an apologetic laugh. “Your family really overreacts to some things, don’t they?”

Vanya crossed her legs. “I wouldn’t call this an overreaction.”

“You hurt one of us,” Diego said. He shoved Harold into one of the room’s chairs. “No one gets away with that.”

Klaus laughed and pumped a fist in the air, vaguely supportive. Too high to really put any energy into it. It was still enough to piss Harold off. Looking Diego in the eyes, he said, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “Really.”

“So one of you did murder your dad, then.”

Diego’s eyes widened. Behind him, Harold could see Allison and Vanya shifting uneasily, and Klaus straightening a little. Good. Let them listen.

“I assume one of you must have killed him,” Harold said, “because you don’t let anyone hurt your family. So you would never let old Reginald get away with drugging Vanya for years. Or the kind of training he put you through as children. Or isolating you from anyone your own age or anyone, you know, sane. Or, you know, sending Number One to the fucking moon. I’m sure you didn’t let him get away with that.”

“I think you should shut your mouth,” Diego said. His eyes were widening in a way more threatening than shocked.

“Oh, and I guess you’ve chased down every drug dealer who ever sold Klaus drugs,” Harold said. “Every criminal who ever got in a lucky shot back in the old days. And I’m sure you’ve doled out justice to yourselves for the way you treated Vanya for years—ignoring her, making her feel like she was a freak for being normal even though she wasn’t even…”

“Shut up.”

This time the voice wasn’t Diego’s but Vanya’s. She was standing, too. “You don’t get to use me against my brother. You don’t get to use me to justify your grudges. And you definitely don’t get to use me to justify how you’ve treated Klaus.”

Her eyes really did look blue.

“Seriously, Vanya?” Harold said. “I can’t believe you’re still siding against me. I mean, you of all people should see past your family’s bullshit.”

“My family _is_ bullshit, but not as bullshit as you.”

Klaus was grinning. Harold could feel himself turning red.

“I thought you were different. I was trying to give you a chance to be special—how don’t you realize that? But you’re just another sheep in the Hargreeves flock. You’d do anything for your family because you still worship them. You’re still just the baby of the Hargreeves family, Vanya, and you’re still fucking weak.”

As he spoke, he could feel the sound of his voice somehow warping. There was a wind picking up in the room even though the windows were closed. And then…

“SHUT UP!”

Vanya’s voice. Loud, louder than it should have been.

The wind blasted. A picture fell off the wall, but it didn’t hit the ground. It lifted into the air, and with it, pillows off the couch, detritus from the floor. A miniature tornado.

Vanya was on her feet.

“I AM NOT WEAK.”

Harold stared. Fuck. Her powers. He hadn’t thought they’d kick in so soon. They were like Reginald described in his notes: Potent. Terrifying.

“Okay,” he said quickly, feeling the tug of sound against his skin. “You’re not weak, you’re just…”

“SHUT UP!”

Distantly he thought about Klaus a few hours ago—“ _Being honest, we’ve killed a lot of people_.” Today could be Vanya’s first.

“I,” Vanya said, stepping closer, “AM NOT—”

“Vanya,” Klaus said, grabbing at her arm, “don’t…”

The rest of his sentence was cut off as she turned towards him with a slashing motion and a flying picture frame bludgeoned him in the face, making him stagger backwards into Allison. Blood dripped from his forehead.

Vanya’s eyes widened. The wind died down.

Harold tried to get out of his seat, to rush to Klaus, but Diego blocked him, practically hissing. Allison was checking his forehead instead, wiping the blood off with a handkerchief—probably monogrammed, the rich bitch. She murmured something soothing, which Klaus was paying no attention to. He was grinning that hysterical grin he sometimes wore.

Harold wanted to kiss it off of him.

Vanya stared at Klaus. Then she said, to Allison, “I-I don’t think I should be in the same room as Leonard. I’m going to go out to the car.”

“I’ll go with you,” Allison said.

“Don’t be stupid, stay with Klaus. And keep an eye on him.” She nodded at Harold. “I’ll be fine.”

“Vanya…”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Harold said to Diego, “Let me look at him.”

“No.”

“I don’t care if he looks,” Klaus said to Diego. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” He was still grinning. “He says he doesn’t like me hurt but I know a liar…”

“He’s not getting near you.”

“What did he do to you, Klaus?” Allison asked.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Klaus repeated. One track mind, and very amused. “Harold has seen every dirty inch of me—don’t look at me like that, Allison, it’s been days, did you honestly think I’d hold out that long without one single fuck?”

This was apparently the last straw for Diego, who decked Harold in the face.

Klaus darted over and pulled him off before he could hurt Harold further. “Hey. Hey! Calm down, bro. It’s nothing. He didn’t really hurt me.”

“That bandage on your neck says otherwise,” Diego snapped. “What’s this about him fucking you?”

“Oh, I fucked him. It was all safe, sane and consensual—let go of him—come on, Diego, no need to be a sourpuss.”

“Sourpuss.” Diego huffed. “Your vocabulary.” But he did step away from Harold, who gingerly touched his jaw. Ow. That was going to be a bruise, if he made it out of here alive.

At least Klaus seemed to be championing him, sort of. Even if Vanya wasn’t.

“Diego,” Allison said, “can you take Klaus to the bathroom and take care of that cut? I’ll talk to Harold.”

“You think I can’t hold my temper either? Tell me he didn’t deserve that.”

“I would like a moment alone with Harold,” Allison said. “And frankly, Klaus shouldn’t be here. It’s upsetting him.”

“I’m fine,” Klaus muttered.

Diego looked him over. “Okay. We’ll go have a look at the cut.” He hustled him out of the room.

And Harold was left alone with Allison, who looked at him with the same cool fury as Vanya, though more controlled. Maybe she would be the one to kill him after all—she’d probably wanted to ever since they met in Vanya’s apartment. She’d rumored him when he woke up, no hesitation. She wouldn’t hesitate to go further. She could do anything to him.

He realized, suddenly, that he was scared. He was tired and his jaw hurt and Vanya was mad at him and he was alone with Allison and he was scared. He’d said today he didn’t care if he died. But he’d been talking out of his ass. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want Allison to kill him and leave his body in the lake. He didn’t want to become a ghost like Ben, even if he thought of Ben as the friend he’d never seen. He wanted to live happily ever after with his woodshop and his neat little house and Klaus, and he didn’t want to die.

“I heard a rumor you told me everything I asked of you truthfully.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, Allison. I’m not ashamed.”

“Tell me every time you’ve hurt Klaus, starting when you first met. And why.”

It was a long conversation. Question after question. Answers spilled from Harold’s mouth with barely a thought, some of them unexpected, some of them easy and rote. Allison left when Diego appeared at the door telling her that Klaus was getting restless, but she didn’t look like she was done.

She was gone for a long time, though.

Harold wanted Klaus to come in. He wanted to ask Klaus what he thought they would do to him, and whether he approved. He wanted to go back to bed with Klaus, and he wanted Klaus to kiss him good night—or at least goodbye. Klaus hadn’t said a word to Harold since Diego and Allison and Vanya got here, only to his brothers and sisters, and even if he’d been protective, Harold wanted more.

He could have gone to the bathroom to find them, tried to get Klaus’s attention. Allison hadn’t rumored him to sit still. But Klaus didn’t seem to want to talk, and Harold was tired.

If he died, would Klaus ever conjure him? Would Harold even want him to?

(He imagined them dying together, as lovers did sometimes. He could light this house on fire and let them both burn. But he was rumored not to hurt anyone, and not to try to run away, and that would be both. And he didn’t want to die, not really. He just didn’t want Klaus to go away.)

Allison came back.

“We’ve talked it over,” she said. “We’re not going to kill you, so you can be happy with that, I guess. I wouldn’t be so nice if it were my choice.”

Cold eyes.

Harold hadn’t thought past the possibility of them killing him, too tired, but now he knew—they’d send him back to prison, now he’d never be free again—fear erupted in his chest, no longer tired fear but frantic, panicky…

“Tell me,” she said, “did you really think Klaus could ever love you?”

That was an easy question. “Yes,” he said, “of course. Klaus does love me.”

When he realized what he’d said, he almost bit his tongue. That wasn’t the truth. He didn’t believe that. He wasn’t fool enough to believe that—only that Klaus could love him with time—he didn’t…

Allison’s gaze was almost pitying.

“I heard a rumor that you went to sleep, and when you woke up, you didn’t remember that any of the Hargreeves ever existed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's been a month. I've spent that month writing fanfics for a gift exchange. (The Just Married Exchange, if you're curious--check my page on August 12 and you'll probably see I wrote a couple marriage fics lately, if that's of interest to you. Not Umbrella Academy related, tho.) And also, procrastinating finishing this fic. I have a chapter and a half left to write, and two chapters left to post here... A bit scary.
> 
> Hm, again I have all kinds of meta thoughts, and I think I better not go on a ramble. I'd rather hear y'all's thoughts, which are fresher and therefore, to me at least, fascinating. Ahahahahahah. Well, I hope you're enjoying the fallout.


	16. Chapter 16

The way Diego did first aid was different from how Harold did it. Oddly enough, he was less sentimental about it, more matter of fact. He was efficient at cleaning and bandaging a cut both, and he mostly looked at the cut to judge how much care it needed, how bad it was. As opposed to Harold, who was slower, more careful—less experience to guide him, Klaus supposed—and terribly emotional: either tenderly soothing as he gave Klaus water to drink or guiltily angry as he took care of the wounds he’d inflicted. Diego’s calm efficiency was much more familiar. It reminded Klaus of days when they were kids; they all used to take care of each other and they didn’t bother whining about it or worrying about it, these things happened in a fight.

And honestly Klaus was glad of a moment of peace and quiet. Too much emotional bullshit going on out in the living room, and he was too high for it. He had a feeling he’d been reacting wrongly to some of the drama. Diego was vibrating a little, and it wasn’t about the cut, but he was too drained to fucking deal with it. So instead he rambled on about how he’d been swimming today and this was actually a pretty nice spot in the woods for a vacation, if one wasn’t kidnapped, and Diego was quiet and it was kind of nice.

For a while. But he couldn’t quite stop himself from thinking about the man sitting in the other room (and the fact that Allison was there with him, which had him kind of worried, because obviously Allison could handle it but Harold hated her, hated her, and what if he tried to do something?). He headed for the door, but Diego caught him and told him to wait. He’d get Allison.

And then Allison came in looking grave. Apparently it was time to talk about serious matters. These nice little interludes never lasted as long as one would like them to.

“We can’t kill him,” she said. “He probably would keep on haunting Klaus indefinitely. I mean, he’s clearly obsessed. And he’s a creep—I wouldn’t want that kind of guy haunting me.”

“Exactly what I was saying,” Klaus said. “You can’t just fucking kill a guy and expect him to not haunt me, that’s Klaus 101.”

“Yes, Klaus,” said Allison in a very indulgent tone of voice. “You’re right. So,” she said to Diego, “it looks like we have to just call the cops. We can probably get the local police down here in about an hour. We’re not that far from town.”

Klaus waved his hands. “Hold up, hold up. Did you just say police?”

“Yes, Klaus, I did.”

“No police,” Klaus said positively. When Diego and Allison gawked at him, he said, “Do you have any idea how many things I’m wanted for? Not that they know all of it was me, but I’m not going down just so we can get Harold locked up. Besides, do you really think my testimony will hold up in court? No one listens to druggies.”

“We can work something out,” Diego said. “If you’re that worried, forget the local cops. I have a friend on the police force who I know will be willing to help you and be discreet.”

“No cops,” Klaus repeated, and he crossed his arms. On this, he was going to get his way.

(He could remember down at the lake, Harold saying something about how he didn’t care if he died as long as he didn’t go back to prison. Not that it really mattered to him, but. He wasn’t that much of a dick.)

 Allison and Diego looked at each other in that big-sibling way that they had despite being the exact same age as Klaus, and almost simultaneously sighed. Allison said, “Fine then. But we can’t have him coming after you again. Or Vanya. Or any of us—he seems to be obsessed with the Umbrella Academy in general, not just the two of you.”

“Yeah, he has trauma,” Klaus said. He yawned. “Dad really fucked up a lot of people. Well, our dad, his dad… there was a whole tragic backstory but I guess this isn’t really the time for it.”

“I can break every bone in his body,” Diego said helpfully. “He won’t be coming after anyone for a while then, and he’ll know better than to mess with my siblings again.”

“Not a bad plan,” Allison said.

“Not a good plan either. What if you kill him by accident? Besides, he’s been through pain before—always bounces back crazier than ever, and he’d probably do it this time too. And he’d have even more of a grudge.” Klaus considered the matter. Fuck, he’d really just been going to run for it and go to ground for a couple years until he was sure Harold had pissed off and forgotten all about him. Would have been much simpler. Hm… that was the core of the matter, wasn’t it? That Harold would keep on thinking about them forever, if they didn’t do anything about it. Why mess around with threats and deterrents when you could take care of that kind of shit directly?

When he told Allison his idea, to make Harold forget all about all of them, she bit her lip. “Klaus…”

“It’s not like you can’t do something that long-lasting. You’ve done weirder things before.”

“I know. I’ve done… I’ve done _worse_ things before, too. But… I’d really been trying to give it up, all the rumoring. It’s a power not to be abused.”

“That sounds serious,” Klaus said. God, crises of morality were way too much for him to deal with right now. “Um… yeah, you know. If you don’t want to, don’t. But, you know, it would be pretty convenient, and would solve a pretty large problem, and Harold’s kind of a huge asshole, so I wouldn’t feel too bad about it if you did. Also, if Harold comes after us again, Vanya might genuinely murder him—just a vibe I’m picking up.”

For a moment, Allison stood in the bathroom in silence, eyes closed, thinking. Klaus looked at Diego, who was picking at something on one of his knives. Probably still wished he could just stab Harold and be done with it. Klaus could relate.

Finally Allison said, “Fine. I’ll do it. Wait here.”

She came back to fetch them a few minutes later. In the living room, Harold hadn’t moved from his chair, but he had fallen into a deep sleep. Klaus studied his sleeping face. The man looked harmless, but that wasn’t surprising. He looked pretty harmless awake, too, which just went to show you that appearances didn’t really count for shit.

He glanced at Allison, raising his eyebrows. _You did it?_ She nodded back.

They went outside, shutting the door behind them with a click.

Vanya was waiting in the car. When she heard their choice on how to deal with Harold, she argued about it for a few minutes, but eventually gave up and decided it could wait for later. She and Diego and Allison seemed to be even more tired than Klaus.

“We’ve been up all night,” Allison said. “Now it’s—Jesus, it’s almost five AM. Pretty soon the sun will be coming up.” She yawned. “Is it even safe for us to be driving?”

“Too bad we don’t have a chauffeur, movie star,” Diego snapped. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve handled more hours than this.”

“We’ll take turns,” Allison decided. “You can drive first, though. I think I’m crashing.”

Klaus sat in the front seat and kept Diego awake, rambling on about what had gone on since they’d seen each other last. He tried to keep his conversation as innocuous as possible so as to not make Diego too angry—angry drivers weren’t much better than sleepy drivers, after all—but he couldn’t resist the occasional outrageous remark to see how Diego would react. Diego didn’t say much in reply, but he never did, not when he was talking to Klaus. Luther was the only one who could really draw him into prolonged conversation, and even those conversations were rarely pleasant.

In the backseat, Allison sat with Vanya slumped against her, both of them sleeping, completely worn out by the day’s activities. Klaus glanced back every now and then. Vanya had been hit over the head just a little while ago—well, almost a day ago now, he supposed—and he hoped she was feeling better. She’d been in too much of a temper earlier to really talk about it.

When Allison switched to the driver’s seat, he took advantage of the change to ask her. “So what’s going on with Vanya? I feel like I’ve missed some large developments. I mean, Harold told me about the whole powers thing but they seem to have come out a lot faster than you would expect. I mean, it took us years to… ‘manifest’, as the old man would say it.”

 “Don’t ask me. I’ve only known she has powers since yesterday afternoon.” It was far enough into the early morning hours to say the day had changed by now. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird. I guess I’ve gotten used to it though. Sort of.” Klaus yawned. You could get used to practically anything, he supposed—knowing Vanya wasn’t the outlier they’d always thought she was wasn’t _that_ weird.. “Anyways, you two are acting pretty close now. Did I miss some family bonding time?”

“You missed a lot of weird shit.”

“Mm. Too bad.” He used his most sarcastic voice. Hellish as the last week had been, he didn’t feel the slightest regret at missing out on more family drama—especially if it had been as weird as their particular brand of family drama tended to be.

“Yeah, Five’s talking about an apocalypse…”

“Oh! Right, Five’s back now.” That was actually something he was sorry to have missed out on. “Is he still around? He didn’t just fuck off again, did he?”

“Last time I saw him, he and Luther were heading out to search some hotels for you and Leonard-I mean Harold. And he’s been kind of in and out? But I don’t think he’s running away anytime soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Klaus slept for the rest of the ride. Voices filtered through his subconscious, and the sound of the car still driving on and on. He was still high, and nothing really mattered. They would arrive at their destination eventually.

* * *

 

Allison had called Luther and Five to let them know that the Klaus-retrieval (as Klaus liked to call it in his head) had been successful, so they weren’t freaking out when everyone got back to the manor. They were, in fact, in very good moods. Five even seemed kind of mellow, something that even back in the old days had been extremely rare.

Luther was still a little grouchy about Harold’s fate as described to him over the phone—“who cares what Klaus said, we can’t just let this guy wander around… no offense, Allison, obviously your powers will prevent him coming after us, but he might go after someone else”—but overall he was happy to have Klaus back and to see everyone else still in one piece. He gave Klaus one of those crushing hugs that he still, after all these years of super-strength, had never quite learned to regulate, and Klaus laughed and accepted it.

Behind Luther’s head he could see Ben sitting on the sofa. Back after a day of silence. He quickly sat down on the sofa himself, grinning at Ben, who grinned right back.

“Okay,” Luther said, “everyone sit down. We need to debrief.”

“Do we really need to?” Klaus said. “I wasn’t even on a mission.”

“Plus,” Diego added, “You aren’t the leader of this team. If there even is a team. Which…”

Vanya cleared her throat. “ _I’d_ like to debrief.”

Given that earlier Vanya had nearly caused a tornado with her powers in a fit of temper, no one really wanted to argue with her. Grumbling, they all sat down. Five sat at the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was sitting next to a legless, armless mannequin. Klaus had so many questions.

Vanya described briefly her encounter with Klaus the day before, which was nothing new to Klaus except for the events that had set it into motion, and the facts that had led to her suspecting Harold in the first place. Her detective work had been pretty good, he thought, or at least on a standard Umbrella Academy level. Actually he was kind of impressed that the whole family had put in so much effort to find him in the first place. To say it was many times what he’d expected would be putting it lightly—mostly, he hadn’t expected them to try to find him at all. Good job, team.

Then Allison and Diego and Vanya all stitched together varied accounts of the confrontation with Harold at the cabin. Klaus only added the occasional comment. They were being pretty accurate.

“So Vanya lost control of her powers,” Luther said. He frowned. “These powers look like they could be dangerous. We’ll need to do some work on training them.”

“I have Dad’s notes,” Vanya said. “But all of Dad’s training seems to have been about reining my powers in. I don’t know how useful it would be. It doesn’t seem to have even worked.”

Five waved a hand. “We’ll figure it out. The apocalypse is cancelled, guys. We can take as long as we want.” He had already finished his glass of whiskey and poured himself another, and his voice was a little slurred. Klaus wasn’t sure a physical fifteen year old should be drinking heavily but to say that would be damn hypocritical when he’d been doing much worse by that age. And he hadn’t been a mental sixty-year-old either, or whatever the fuck Five said he was these days.

“Speaking of the apocalypse,” Luther said.

“Which is now a worn out and redundant subject,” Five said.

“Speaking of the apocalypse,” Luther repeated, “it might interest you to hear what we’ve been up to while you guys were out. Some, uh, pretty interesting stuff.”

“We got rid of some people,” Five said dismissively. “Nothing to worry about.”

“We ran into those assassins who attacked the house a while ago,” Luther said. “Got into a fight. Five stole their suitcases, and he says they’re now ‘stranded in the time stream’, but he got information off them that the apocalypse is off its current trajectory, so that’s good.”

“Great,” Klaus said. “We can all just keep on living our lives indefinitely then.” He yawned. “Well, now that all that’s settled, I might go to bed.” Actually he was thinking about the drugs he had stashed in his bedroom. It had been a week, or something like that, since he got a good hit. And these drugs wouldn’t make Ben disappear.

Ben could apparently tell what he was thinking, because he said, “I will murder you.”

“You can’t,” Klaus said. “Being dead, and all that.” When the others looked at him quizzically, he said, “I’m just going to go rest. I’m very traumatized. Toodles.”

“Get some good sleep,” Allison said, and he waved back at her as he ascended the stairs. Allison. She always meant well.

He was almost to his room when he noticed something interesting in Five’s. There was a suitcase lying on top of his bed.

From the assassins Luther had mentioned?

Hm.

“What do you think, Ben?” he murmured. “Think assassins would have some good stuff?” If not drugs, money—and he wouldn’t be sticking around here too much longer, and he’d gotten kind of used to having a roof over his head in the past several days.

“Probably nothing you should be touching,” Ben said.

“Oh, shut up.” He opened the suitcase and was engulfed in a flash of light.

* * *

 

Downstairs, Five heard the faint noise of time travel and let out a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't keep Klaus from meeting Dave forever, seemed too harsh. So. There you go.  
> All that's really left of this fic is an epilogue, so I thought I'd say a couple words before the last chapter. I've really had a lot of fun writing this fic. It's been self indulgent from beginning to end (...or almost end, since we aren't quite at the end yet) and was really good stress relief during finals season. Thank you to all y'all who keep on coming back and commenting, or even just reading--I appreciate it, and I probably wouldn't have the drive to finish writing this without all of you. You're great!  
> The epilogue should be up soon enough, but it will likely be short. Stay tuned :)


	17. Epilogue

In retrospect, Harold thought, his weeklong breakdown had been a little stupid. He couldn’t even remember what had triggered it—he remembered hearing something on the news that had been mildly upsetting, but not what it had been—but really, skipping work for almost a week and finally running off to his grandmother’s cabin to get away from the world had been an overreaction. Why was he like this? If he could afford therapy, like he’d briefly had in prison, they’d probably tell him it was some kind of trauma response. Well, whatever it was, it was fucking dumb. He woke up in the cabin’s living room feeling embarrassed that he’d let himself get this out of control, packed his stuff back up, and headed back home immediately.

He went back to working in the woodshop immediately too. He was behind on some of his commissions, and his answering machine was full of calls from angry customers. His cell had some messages too, including one correspondence with someone he couldn’t remember (apparently he’d named the contact Vanya?). He deleted the messages from her without opening them.

Why, he wouldn’t have been able to say.

Instinct.

Work in the woodshop was as satisfying as ever. He was able to placate the worst of the customers, and make the ones who hadn’t noticed the delay quite happy. It was soothing, too, the rhythm of the work. Relaxing. He could almost forget last week’s breakdown, let the leftover anxiety flow away. Only not quite. When he was in the woodshop, everything was good, but when he went home, the house felt empty, almost alien. The bedroom, in particular, felt utterly desolate.

“You need to get a cat,” he muttered to himself. Or a dog—that would take more work, but it might be worth it. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered getting a pet. He was lonely all the time. But for some reason, the urge felt more imperative now than usual. He looked up petshops and rescue shelters in the area the next day, and made a list for reference.

He didn’t actually end up going to any of them, yet. These things required thinking over. Being responsible for another living being was a big deal; you couldn’t take up something like that on an impulse.

It had been another week since his inexplicable breakdown when a strange man showed up in the woodshop. He was wearing a dirty army-green vest, leather leggings, and copious eyeliner. He was pretty, and he looked at Harold with complete and utter terror.

Harold approached him cautiously. “Hey. Can I help you with anything?”

The man took a step backward, and Harold stepped back as well. No need to freak the guy out. He already seemed to have the jitters.

“Sorry, just… you can look around first if you want. I don’t mean to rush you. But I was wondering if you wanted anything done?”

The man said, “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

His voice was lower than Harold had expected, and caustic. It made him shiver—he was sure it wasn’t a voice he’d forget. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before. Maybe you have me confused with someone else?”

The man laughed.

Harold began to think he should maybe just go back to what he’d been doing before and let the man wander around on his own for a while and eventually leave. He seemed… off. Normally Harold would have kicked a guy like this out—he looked like trouble, and Harold didn’t need trouble in his shop, he’d had enough trouble in his life already, thank you. But for some reason he didn’t want to. And he didn’t really want to walk away from the guy either, so, indulging himself, he tucked his hands behind his back and waited for the man to stop laughing.

At last the man said, “Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s fine. Anyone’s welcome in the shop. Perhaps there’s something here that interests you?”

“No, no. Nice woodwork, I guess. But it’s not really my speed.” The man swallowed. “I just wanted to say…” And then he said, so quickly that Harold could barely understand what he was saying, “I’m going to get clean now, but it has nothing to do with you, nothing at all. I don’t think you’d know love if it hit you in the face, anyways. Asshole.”

Harold blinked.

The man clapped his hands together. “Well! I’ll be on my way.”

He darted out before Harold could stop him, and when he was gone, Harold wondered why for a moment he’d wanted to.

When he went home that night, he picked up a piece of carving he’d found by his bed last week. Made in some mania of his breakdown—a man in the nude, curly hair and wide eyes. It made him think of the stranger. Had they really met before, perhaps? And had he subconsciously remembered their meeting, and, in a whirlwind of stress, sculpted the man into being?

Maybe they’d met in prison. Harold had met a lot of people there, and most of them he’d tried to forget when he got out. Sometimes he was successful.

It really was mystifying. But, he thought, not necessarily in a bad way. Though he’d seen the man for only a couple minutes, he liked him. And clearly he could serve as something of a muse.

He lay down on his bed and considered the probability of the man ever coming back. Ran his hands over the wooden carving.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read this far! It's been a lot of fun playing with this messed up ship :)  
> Idk if I'll be writing Umbrella Academy fic again soon, but I might, we'll see. If you wanna chill in the meantime, I'm on tumblr at convenientalias. Occasionally I even take prompts.  
> Again, thanks for all the support! Ta ta.


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